We can change so many times in our lives. We're born into a family, and it's the only life we can imagine, but it changes. Buildings collapse. Fires burn. And the next second we're someplace else entirely, going through different motions and trying to keep up with this new person we've become.
I'm suddenly finding it hard to know the difference between nightmares and consciousness.
Lovers are weapons, but love is a wound.
Maybe hope isn't the most dangerous thing a person can have. Maybe love is.
Ah, love. That’s what the world has lost. There’s no more love, only the illusion of it.
I wanted to be rid of him," he says. He raises my chin with his thumb. "But not if it meant being rid of you. I climbed in beside you, and you put your head in my lap. You can't think I would have left you like that." "Look what it got you," I say. "Tea in bed and you here in front of me," he says. "It was a terrible decision, and I confess I'd make it again.
I nod like I'm not at all unnerved by this new cold side to him. Not cruel like his father. Not warm like the husband who sought me out on quiet nights. Something in between. This Linden has never woven his fingers through mine, never chosen me from a line of weary Gathered girls, never said he loved me in a myriad of coloured lights. We are nothing to each other.
There’s a limit to how much living can be done in a life without freedom.
It isn’t a perfect place. There are no perfect places. But nobody cares about perfection when there are sand castles to build and kites to chase, children that are being born, old hearts that are giving in.
Hope, that risky, illustrious thing. It should have gone extinct by now, but we keep it alive.
Don't you miss it?" I say. "Being free." He laughs.
I figured it out eventually," she says. She's sitting on the edge of the gurney again; her features slowly materialize as my vision clears. "It's momentum." "What?" I whisper. The feeling returning to my lips, spreading out to my fingertips and toes. "Momentum," she repeats. "You can't just stand there if you want something to fly. You have to run.
I wish I had a memory of that first violent shove, the shock of cold air, the sting of oxygen into new lungs. Everyone should remember being born. It doesn't seem fair that we only remember dying.
There's a sort of dead passion in him. A spark that, had he more years to live, would be a wildfire.
His three wives are huddled together on the bare mattress, one of them dying; when we're together, we form an alliance he can't touch. He's scared to even try.
Because even if the lie is beautiful, the truth is what you face in the end.
But there’s no such thing as free. There are only different and more horrible ways to be enslaved.
There is warmth shooting through my broken body where there should be pain, and I put my arms around the back of his neck and I hold on to him. I hold on because you never know in this place when something good will be taken away.
I used to have only one name; it used to mean something.
...maybe hope isn't such a bad thing. Maybe it's what keeps us together.
I've done it all before, I tell myself, and I can do it again. Trust is the strongest weapon.
It's best to let her go," he says. No, no, that's wrong. It's never right to give up on someone.
I wonder if she has figured out that I'll never love Linden, especially not in the way she does, and that he'll never love anyone the way he loves her. I wonder if she realizes, despite all her efforts to train me, that I can never take her place.
Write words you’re willing to burn at the stake for. Write words you’d believe in even if the rest of the world didn’t.
There's nothing here to say good-bye to. There's no dancing girl. No mischievous smile. She's gone, off with her sisters, broken free, escaped. And if she were here now, she would say, "Go.
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