When someone is hiding a secret in a house, something changes in the air. Unspoken words, half finished smiles, eggshell steps – they distort reality, they muffle truth.
Noah’s Gift is that he could live forever and help others to as well, but his curse is that he only wants to die.
Most people are like sand, the impact of their lives washed away by years.
Even while sleeping, she looks like a deadly goddess, an iron queen. Mara is anything but peaceful – even in repose she is a silky gray cloud, bright with the promise of lightning. I will not find peace with her. But there will be no greater passion.
Lightning flickered through the windows that wouldn’t release us and made monsters of our shadows against the wall.
The bullies never remember, but the bullied never forget.
I explore the full boxes, mostly brimming with battered, dog-eared, highlighted books. The pages are worn, well-read, and I skim through them. I wonder if it’s possible to know someone through the words they loved.
You’re my preferred method of self harm.
We were not a foursome. For that, we’d need to be bonded by secrets, and I shared none of mine. Secrets cut you off from everyone else, so I would always suggest the vast majority of our exploits to mask that I never could quite connect with them in the first place. Insert a stifled sob here, would you?
Literally a disaster.
My throat burned with the tears I wanted to cry but wouldn’t. I knew she loved me. She just didn’t believe me. I understood why, but it hurt like hell just the same.
I want to shake them for their ignorance and scream that their Sistine Chapel is filled with cracks.
Where’s Noah?” I asked with steel in my voice. My eyes searched the room, but there was nothing to find. “Why did you tell me he was dead?” Dr. Kells was reaching into a cardboard box by her feet as I spoke. “Because he is.
I stifled a yawn. “It’s too early to be such an asshat, Daniel.
Her sound – dissonant, aching. Her breath and heartbeat and pulse are my new favorite symphony; I’m beginning to learn which notes will play when, and to interpret them. There is wrath and contentment and fear and desire – but she has never let the last get too far. Yet. The sun sings in her hair as her head tilts, dips toward the page. She arches forward, her shape slightly feline as she draws. My heart beats her name.
I stare at her above me and want her to pry me open, to crack my ribs, lick my heart, break my bones and suck out the marrow. I want to live inside of her.
I don’t know what she’s thinking, but all I can think is that I want her against me, around me, enveloping me.
You’ll love him to ruins. Unless you let him go.
You can’t keep a secret from the person you love and expect it not to change him, too. She doesn’t trust me with something, which makes me distrust her, and that makes our hands miss each other when we pass something over the table. It makes my mouth just miss hers when I lean to kiss her lips and end up with cheek instead.
We don’t have to be what they want.