Again I have two answers, and in some ways they both feel like a cop-out because they're someone else's words. There's always an angel; never a god, which is from the boygenius song "Not Strong Enough" but I chose because it fit the themes and overall vibe of the story so perfectly. Then there's take these years of mine, which is from This Is How You Lose the Time War, and I just think it's such a lovely turn of phrase and it fits thematically as well.
One that comes to mind is "Barbara watched the rolling tide of her throat as she swallowed." and the passage that surrounds it. Apologies, it's kind of long, but I think I accomplished something I've been working on in this section, which is using more descriptive and evocative language in my prose to ground the scene in the senses (because I have a tendency to spend all my time in the characters' heads). This is from chapter 8 of Fritole, "Bachelorette Weekend."
Fire danced in Melissa’s eyes as she sparked up, turning the spliff in her hand. The end of it burned in flame and then settled into a red-orange glow as she brought it to her lips and inhaled. Barbara found herself breathing with her, blowing clean air from her lungs as Melissa expelled smoke from hers.
(She was too stoned, and too invested in the shape of Melissa’s lips, to realize how intently she was staring.)
“You want any?” Melissa offered. Barbara shook her head, looking out over the ocean. It was nice here, where there were no other people. More space to listen and think and feel. To look out at an ocean undisrupted by buoys or bodies. To be closer to God.
She tipped her head back, eyes closed, to feel the sun on her face. “I wish we had some music right now,” she said. “That’s the only thing that could make this more perfect.”
When Melissa didn’t respond, Barbara opened her eyes. Melissa was looking at her with an expression that was so soft she could nearly cry. She was so happy. Just to be here. To be basking in Melissa’s light. To stare into the clear green of her eyes, seeing and being seen.
“Yeah,” Melissa breathed. There seemed to be so much contained in that one syllable. She cleared her throat and made a face, and Barbara thought maybe she’d just imagined the layers of choked longing folded into her voice. “Damn. I left my iPod Nano in the room.” She looked away, taking another drag of her marijuana cigarette. “‘Course, I don’t have a speaker, so that wouldn’t have done us much good. Shoulda brought a boombox.”
“It’s all right,” Barbara said. “I’m happy with just this.”
Melissa looked at her again. So soft. Searching. Barbara watched the rolling tide of her throat as she swallowed.
“Me too,” she said, looking away.
