And I do not know how I can feel this much pain and survive, and at the same time know how much I have to live.
I believe in a new beginning. And so do many others out there – those writing on scraps to hang in the Gallery, those who continue to work hard to take care of the sick, those who dare to believe that we can all be the pilots of something new and better.
The lesson was a good one to learn. Do not pretend one place is like another or look for similarities. Only look for what is.
I don’t cut deep-I don’t want to kill the tree. I carve her name carefully on the trunk, thinking, as I always do, of when I held her hand in mine to teach her to write.
I climb into the dark for you. Are you waiting in the stars for me?
I couldn’t find a way to fly to you so I walked every step in this stone.
They say you should always teach a person’s name first. That way, even if they never learn to write anything else, they’ll always have something.
I was trying to find a way to you,” Ky says. “I wanted to cross the plain and get back to the Society somehow. We took some things from the farmers’ township for trade.
So many beginnings. I tell myself that in a way it’s good that I haven’t Ky yet, because I still don’t know what to whisper to him when I see him, which words would be the very best ones to give.
Then she asked me the color of my eyes. In that moment I realized that loving each other felt more dangerous-more like a rebellion-than anything else ever could.
But then I feel it. Even hidden away in the dark, I can tell that it is there. Some small part of me is always, always free.
The dead don’t see but I do.
The way the two of them look at each other is like touching.
In a story, you can turn to the front and being again and everyone lives once more.
And out of nowhere, I think: So this is how it feels to stand at the edge of a canyon.
Perhaps it is because now I live in his story. Now I am a part of his, and he of mine, and the part we write sometimes feels like the only part that matters.
I realize now how much courage it takes to choose the life you want, whatever that might be.
In the end you can’t always choose what to keep. You can only choose how you let it go.
Forgetting lets you live without the pain for a moment but remembering hits hard.
It is strange how we hold on to the pieces of the past while we wait for our futures.