//The Weight of Life by Whitney Barbetti//
“He tasted like heartbreak and hope, and my skin lit up with a thousand heat spots. I couldn’t get close enough, his mouth couldn’t kiss me long enough. I wanted more, more, more.”
Ames, a shell of a man who as been broken form loss.
Mila, scarred by not broken by grief.
Two lost and lonely souls searching for happiness and the promise of hope after experiencing heart wrenching sadness.
The Weight of Life was romantic. Sweet. Breathtaking.
I loved the relationship she built with Mila and Ames. Two polar opposites in the way they live life, the way the grieve, where they live… but somehow needed and understood each other because of what they shared… their loss. It was hard for them both, still haunted from past loved ones, but I love how Mila wasn’t going to let that stop her from living her life. She was truly inspiring character.
“I’ve touched sadness. But I refuse to let it consume who I am.”
Ames was a completely different story. When we first meet Ames he is this grumpy, broody, HOT, sad man. He’s going through the motions trying to live up to an obligation that he put in place for himself, but still living in the past… until he meets Mila. I think the moment they laid eyes on each other, coupled with their unconventional meeting, they both changed. It’s like they were each others human defibrillator, jolting the other back to life.
Whitney Barbetti perfectly encompassed trying to hold on to hope when your world just shattered. The movement of this novel surrounded and consumed me. The slow and sweet moments… I savored. The quick and unsure moments gave me anxiety. But I think that speaks the the kind of author she is because that is how you live life. You enjoy those fleeting moments of happiness, and stress in moments of annoyance and pain. This novel was beautifully written and is definitely one of my top picks for 2017!
“Don’t let go.” Those were my first words to him, as I hung over the side of a London bridge. The words I would soon say again, in a moment that didn’t involve bridges, but something much more fragile: my heart.
He held onto me for three weeks, in a time when I needed to be held. Needed to connect to someone who understood how loss tunneled unrepentantly through the fabric of your soul.
Although he said he’d stay, we both knew he wouldn’t. I had already survived one loss—I didn’t know if I’d survive another.
She spun into my life like a tornado of smiles and chatter and everything else I’d long avoided, with a persistence that I admired, albeit begrudgingly. She broke down each neat wall I’d constructed without even trying. Her presence alone caused me to remember what it felt like to smile, to look forward to what the day would bring.
But it was only supposed to last three weeks.
“Don’t let go,” she’d pleaded.
I’d promised her I wouldn’t—but I would. I didn’t have a choice.
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I like nachos and champagne and clean sheets. I spend far too much time at Starbucks. I wrote a couple books