Five Really Long Sentences I Have Written About Myself In The Third Person
1. “It all seems rather silly now, how she took every little thing he ever said and did—every tiny bit of attention he ever paid her—and molded it into a great unspoken love, a bright splendid future filled with road trips and hotel rooms and dinner parties and kids and a sprawling garden and a pet pug and maybe even a bunny.”
2. “As she grew older, she would learn about the deep intricacies of human relationships: the little everyday disappointments, the constant battle between forgiveness and giving up, the many, many shades of grey, the hate that grows and grows at the slightest prodding, and all the compromises you have to make for the people you love and the people who love you.”
3. “More than anything, she believed in the power of proximity, in the magic that happens when you manage to integrate someone slowly and steadily into your daily routine; proximity was exactly what she prayed for with closed eyes and clasped hands every night before she went to bed, because maybe proximity could lead to a future with him.”
4. “She should have met him years ago, when she was much younger—at 20 or 21 or 22, she would have found his recklessness endearing, his carelessness charming, his affection flattering, his adoration in no way strange or undeserved—he would have been exactly the kind of guy she wanted and needed in her life back then.”
5. “Standing alone in front of an ice cream cart on a hot, humid summer day, she thought of the love other people so tragically took for granted, and she wondered if, like her, other people also made bargains with God, grand promises of selflessness and devotion if only He would give them someone to love; she wondered at what point these promises were forgotten, and what the punishment was—she’d like to think there were consequences, because life is always fair in the end, but perhaps there were none and perhaps it isn’t.”