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Quote by Karl Kristian Flores

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The Goodbye Song

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Karl Kristian Flores

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“There are two types of kindnesses in the world. The first type of kindness is what some people are born with: an innocent, inherent joy to be alive. It’s nurtured with the right family. It laughs and it dances, on playgrounds and nightclubs, girlish and boyish. The second type of kindness is realized. It is born after countless heartbreaks, traumas, and molded by the darkest thoughts the brain can juggle. Add some life experience and a few good people gone, and you’ve got yourself a person who decides to be kind. Margo was the second. And you could tell by the way she spoke—an attentive politeness, a pain in between her blinks, and a tranquil surrender to how pathetic and beautiful we all are. You could feel all the people she carried with her. It was as if you were somehow meeting them all. And if we want to talk instincts, I could sense there was a quiet battle inside her. She wasn’t a saint. Her kindness wasn’t wholly pure, but it tried. It can be like a veil of effort to almost convince ourselves a person can be good, and I think “almost” is as far as we get. In some way, the same as completely good.”

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Book:The Goodbye Song
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“I stood under the arch and absorbed the image. Rose and blue and ancient oriental rugs held pale pink loveseats with curved arms and perfectly faded silk upholstery. Sheer white-winged angels floated on a ceiling of baby-blue sky with clouds of spun gold. And eastern-facing windows of blue stained glass held paler blue stained-glass crosses in the middle. Daylight and streetlamps were obliterated by thick velvet curtains with gold tasseled ropes, and a small, dusty beam of faded light managed to seep past the heavy drapes, making it look like the tail end of the day instead of the early part of the afternoon. His home was lavish and seductive, and I thought it rare that a man living alone could create a thing of such intensity. For the second time in two days I found myself having to adjust my opinion of Michael Bon Chance. It was a marble fountain that ended my reverie and brought me back down to earth. It was the true centerpiece of the room, with water slowly seeping from a cracked jug and dripping over a statue of a nude couple, bathing. I cringed at the sound. Michael looked at me. "Something wrong?" "It's the dripping." He went over to the bar and poured me a glass of wine. "You're tense. Maybe this will help." I took a sip from the glass and put it down on the fireplace mantel. I caught a glimpse of Michael and myself in the mirror above the fire and felt trapped by how beautiful we looked in the rose glow of the dragon's-head lamps with pale pink bulbs.”

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Book:Scent of Darkness
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“We are in the indie age of “don’t love ideas of people,” but ideas of people are all we have when they’re old and gray and forgetful and smelly," said Miguel. "It isn’t fair to punish someone for loving an idea when everything around us is an idea, the only difference is people change ideas, and I, quite frankly, am excited to see what certain people could change to. I love their intervals and their points.”

RomanceRomanticFalling In LoveTrue LoveAttractionGrowing OldThe Goodbye Song
Book:The Goodbye Song
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