I have been surrounded by love letters you two have built each other for years, encased in tents. It reminds me of what it was to be with her. It is wonderful and it is terrible. I am not yet prepared to give it up, but you are letting it fade.
There are so many pieces to a person. So many small stories and so few opportunities to read them.
She found she no longer minded that the stories would linger. That some enjoyed them and others did not but that is the nature of a story. Not all stories speak to all listeners, but all listeners can find a story that does, somewhere, sometime. In one form or another.
Is it not that bad to be trapped somewhere, then? Depending on where you’re trapped?” “I suppose it depends on how much you like the place you’re trapped in,” Widget says. “And how much you like whoever you’re stuck there with,” Poppet adds, kicking his black boot with her white one. Her brother laughs and the sound echoes through the tent, carried over the branches that are covered in candles. Each flame flickering and white.
There are never really endings, happy or otherwise. Things keep going on, they overlap and blur.
Endings are what give stories meaning. I don’t know if I believe that. I think the whole story has meaning but I also think to have a whole story-shaped story it needs some sort of resolution. Not even a resolution, some appropriate place to leave it. A goodbye. I think the best stories feel like they’re still going, somewhere, out in story space.
Stories have changed, my dear boy,” the man in the gray suit says, his voice almost imperceptibly sad. “There are no more battles between good and evil, no monsters to slay, no maidens in need of rescue. Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience; at least the ones worth something in any case.
I have seen a great many things that I might once have considered impossible, or unbelievable. I find I no longer have clearly defined parameters for such matters. I choose to do my work to the best of my own abilities, and leave others to their own.
This is not the first time they have stood together on these shores. It will not be the last. This is a story they will live over and over again, together and apart. The cage that contains them both is a large one that does not have a key. Not yet.
I’m in love with her.
I’m more of a cocktail guy,” he says, though he is also of the opinion that sparkling wine is an anytime beverage and appreciates Mirabel’s style.
They want to believe that magic is nothing but clever deception, because to think it real would keep them up at night, afraid of their own existence.
Sorry it’s so poetry today.
It began as a dollhouse. Over time, it has become more than that. A dolltown. A dollworld. A dolluniverse.
You keep leaving me. You leave me longing for you again and again when I would give anything for you to stay, and it is killing me.
You will pry this Adventure Time notebook from my cold dead hands, ya ding-dong.
They seem kind of badass, in a nerdy way.
You want to be in the story, not observing it from the outside. You want to be under its shell. The only way to do that is to break it. But if it breaks, it is gone.
There are so many questions, so many things she longs to discuss despite her father’s constant nagging about not concerning herself with her opponent. But at the same time, she feels suddenly exposed, aware that he has always known where each of them stood. Known every time he opened a door for her or took notes for Chandresh. Every time he stared at her as he does now, with those disconcertingly bright-green eyes. Still, it is a tempting invitation.
There may be decisions to make, and surprises in store. Life takes us to unexpected places sometimes. The future is never set in stone, remember that.