Eventually I realize that I am holding on to him just as tightly as he holds on to me. And here we are: two small dying things, as the world ends around us like falling autumn leaves.
Real’ is a dirty word in this place.
Love is not enough to keep any of us alive.
On tiptoes the redhead wouldn't even reach my shoulders; she is clearly too young to be a bride. And the willowy girl is too forlorn. And I am too unwilling. Yet here we are.
Poor kid,' Jenna says, and rolls her eyes toward me for a moment. Then she returns to her book. 'She doesn't even understand what kind of place this is.
I can hear my brother's voice in my head. Your problem is that you're too emotional. But how can I not be emotional, Rowan? How can I not care?
In the distance I see a lighthouse. The light washes over us and continues on its rotation. This time, I don't know where the light will guide us.
Everyone should remember being born. It doesn't seem fair that we only remember dying.
It doesn't matter how much his mother loves him; love is not enough to keep any of us alive.
He kissed back, all the pages spread out around us like riddles waiting to be solved. Let them wait. Let my genes unravel, my hinges come loose. If my fate rests in the hands of a madman, let death come and bring its worse. I'll take the ruined craters of laboratories, the dead trees, this city with ashes in the oxygen, if it means freedom. I'd sooner die here than live a hundred years with wires in my veins.
Do you know what my father used to say?" I ask her. "He used to say that songs had a heart. A crescendo that can make all your blood rush from your head to your toes.
Once upon a time there were two parents, two children, and a brick house with lilies in the yard. The parents died, the lilies wilted. One child disappeared. Then the other." Pg 225
Kettle thingies. Yum.
There was a desperate undercurrent to our marriage--a feeling of being in a dream from which I couldn't seem to awaken. A nagging sense that my life, laid out so neatly like the clothes Deirdre left on my divan, was no longer my own.
It's never right to give up on someone.
Momentum,' She repeats. 'You can't just stand there if you want something to fly. You have to run.
Love unrequited is violent. He loves you so much that he's turned it into hate.
Gabriel's voice can reach me anywhere. Even in a hurricane.
She's beautiful and graceful, and she is very compassionate and loyal when you aren't responsible for the murder of her family.
And everywhere girls, tumbling from trees like orange blossoms and hitting the earth with sickening thuds. They crack open.
No matter how lonely it makes me, and no matter how wide and horrific the loneliness, at least I remember who I am.
When we were first married, I thought he must have been the most heartless, hateful man I'd ever known, but he was just as much a prisonor as I was. Where Vaughn imprisoned me with walls, he imprisoned his son with ignorance.
We figure out what death means when we're born, practically, and we live our whole lives in some kind of weird denial about it.
We were his disposable things. Brought to him like cattle. Stripped of what made us sisters or daughters or children. There was nothing that he could take from us—our genes, our bones, our wombs—that would ever satisfy him. There was no other way that we would be free.
Someday I'll tell you all of it," I say. "I'd like that," he says. "No," I say. "I promise you won't.
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