It is the face of a girl who has seen the world, who realizes that it hates her, and who hates it in return.
Her mind is a bird that's trapped inside her skull, flapping and thrashing, never breaking free.
It taught that there are three versions of things: the one I see in my mind, and the one that carries onto the paper, and then what it ultimately becomes.
You have a way of looking at things. You make it seem as though everything's going to be okay. I can't imagine a more dangerous thing to have than hope like yours.
I watch the ashes swim around like dandelion puffs, making swirls where bodies and walls once stood.
There is a silence so great that I can hear the ice crystals cracking and falling from eyelashes of girls who will never blink again.
There is a dark place calling to me, but I will not go just yet. I know I can't return from it.
Forget who you are and what you think is there, and you'll discover things that don't exist to be known.
I stare at her collarbone that's framed with lace, the hollow of her throat, her shoulders that rise with each rise with the weight of her next breath. We're fragile things. Our bones show through our skin. What would any god want with us?
and I've always known it, the way I love a song I hear for the first time, even before I know all the words, the way I love my favorite color, and the way that the train would speed past my bedroom when it was very quiet and I'd feel it in my stomach rushing through me. I love you in a way that I've never felt needed to be said.
And if I have to die trying, I will get out of here.
I should not have loved my daughter as I did. Not in this world in which nothing lives for long. You children are flies. You are roses. You multiply and die.
Vaughn is talking about the heat, and his voice is so excited that it breaks into whispers at times. He loves his madness the way a bird loves the sky.
But instead of tears, when I press my face against the pillow, a horrible, primal scream comes out of me. It's unlike anything I thought myself capable of. Rage, unlike anything I've ever known.
In another time, in another place, I wonder who they might have been.
The trick was looking past the illusion, because the exit was never as far away as it seemed.
What have you done? What have you given up?' So many things, Cecily. More than you know.
Perhaps... you love too fiercely.
The thing about hope is that it doesn't go away even when it serves no purpose.
I like the idea of something greater than us. We destroy things with our curiosity. We shatter with our best intentions. We are no closer to perfection than we were one hundred years ago, or five hundred.
I don't know if it was love or an illusion. I don't know if there's ever a way to be certain.
Bet you never eat, he says. Bet you drink up the oxygen like it's butter. Bet you can go for days on nothing but thoughts.
I miss something I never even had.
Home?' I say. It's a word that can mean anywhere and nowhere.
She's been conned, ruined, left for dead, and she's not going to forgive any of it. She will soldier on, if only out of spite.
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