Icon of Prague, the medieval bridge crossed the Vltava between Old Town and the Little Quarter. Gothic bridge towers rose on both sides, and the whole span – pedestrian-only – was lined by monumental statues of saints.
It’s like losing gravity and falling into space – the moment of pitching headlong when the endlessness of space asserts itself and there is no more down, only an eternity of up, and you realize you can fall forever and never run out of stars.
Cesky Krumlov, the little jewel box of a city in southern Bohemia.
I’ve always been a reader and a writer.
His eyes are blue, and blue eyes up close are a celestial phenomenon: nebulae as seen through telescopes, the light of unnamed stars diffused through dusts and elements and endlessness. Layers of light. Blue eyes are starlight.
I want to build spires in their minds and dance shadows through like marionettes, chased by whispers and hints of the unspeakable.
Infinities are not for casual exploration. You could fall and keep falling. You could get lost.
Love affair. Doesn’t that sound so middle-aged? And also ill-fated. Like ill-fated is an understood prefix to love affair. Well, ill-fated is fine, as long as it’s a meaty and fraught ill-fated love affair, not a pale and insipid one.
To a new generation of butterflies, hopefully less stupid than last. Maybe they were burgeoning even now in fat little cocoons. Or maybe not.
The audacity to love. Do you know what a gift that is?
Head held high, she stepped toward the block and sank to her knees, and it was then that Akiva started to scream. His voice soared over the pandemonium – a scream to scour the souls of all gathered, a sound to drive ghosts from their nests.
You almost hold up your piece of paper and say, ‘The girl I like just gave me a treasure map to herself.’ But you don’t. You just don’t.
I want to touch with my mouth. His mouth, with my mouth. Maybe his neck, too. But first things first: Make him aware I exist. It’s possible that he is already aware, if only in a ‘don’t step on the small girl’ kind of way.
I might try that one thing, you know, that thing people do when their eyes get all wet and stupid – what’s it called? Crying? Or NOT. I might PUNCH you instead and trust that you won’t punch me back because of my endearing smallness. It would be like punching a child.
I think with world building, it’s important to create a sense of culture even if it is just a fantasy, and the best way to do that is to look at a real human culture and see what makes it cohesive.
Bitter, bitter, this desolation of angels.
I’m going to be the scariest grandma in the world.
Like attracts like, beauty finds beauty, and freaks look on from the smoking section, aching.
And just so you know, the invaders are always the bad guys. Always.
She tasted of fairytales.