I Knew It Would Begin

I Was Like A Lost Moon―my Planet Destroyed In Some Cataclysmic, Disaster-movie Scenario Of Desolation―that Continued, Nevertheless, To Circle In A Tight Little Orbit Around The Empty Space Left Behind, Ignoring The Laws Of Gravity.

I Know The Exact Date That I Began Writing Twilight, Because It Was Also The First Day Of Swim Lessons For My Kids. So I Can Say With Certainty That It All Started On June 2, 2003.

Time Passes. Even When It Seems Impossible. Even When Each Tick Of The Second Hand Aches Like The Pulse Of Blood Behind A Bruise. It Passes Unevenly, In Strange Lurches And Dragging Lulls, But Pass It Does. Even For Me.

I Flicked On The Light Beside My Bed, Waiting For My Breathing To Slow, Veins Full Of Adrenaline From The Realistic Dream. A New Dream, But In Essence So Much The Same As The Many Others That Had Plagued Me In The Past Months. No, Not A Dream. Surely A Memory. I Could Still Feel The Heat Of Jared's Lips On Mine. My Hands Reached Out Without My Permission, Searching Across The Rumpled Sheets, Looking For Something They Didn't Find. My Heart Ached When They Gave Up, Falling To The Bed Limp And Empty.

The Only Parents In The World Who Don’t Need Sleep, And Our Child Already Sleeps Through The Night. Edward Cullen, Breaking Dawn, Chapter 22, P.429