devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful.

A day in the mind of Carlisle Cullen.

I approached the barren, vacant face slowly, my truck rumbling out a comforting roar behind me. I stopped when I got to the porch stairs, because there was nothing here. No lingering sense of their presence…of his presence. The house was solidly here, but it meant little. Its concrete reality would not counteract the nothingness of the nightmares. I didn’t go any closer. I didn’t want to look in the windows. I wasn’t sure which would be harder to see. If the rooms were bare, echoing empty from floor to ceiling, that would certainly hurt. Like my grandmother’s funeral, when my mother had insisted that I stay outside during the viewing. She had said that I didn’t need to see Gran that way, to remember her that way, rather than alive. But wouldn’t it be worse if there were no change? If the couches sat just as I’d last seen them, the paintings on the walls-worse still, the piano on its low platform? It would be second only to the house disappearing all together, to see that there was no physical possession that tied them in anyway. That everything remained, untouched and forgotten, behind them. Just like me. (for kellythepitiablefangirl)

Edward Cullen + Eclipse stills

“If I followed a murderer down a dark alley where he stalked a young girl — if I saved her, then surely I wasn’t so terrible.”

I love him. Not because he’s beautiful or because he’s rich! I’d much rather he weren’t either one. It would even out the gap between us just a little bit — because he’d still be the most loving and unselfish and brilliant and decent person I’ve ever met.

❝Mentally, I just feel…drained.