But no. There is a difference between the truth and what we wish were true.
What do you know of poetry?” Ambrose said without bothering to turn around. “I know a limping verse when I hear it,” I said. “But this isn’t even limping. A limp has rhythm. This is more like someone falling down a set of stairs. Uneven stairs. With a midden at the bottom.” “It is a sprung rhythm,” he said, his voice stiff and offended. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” “Sprung?” I burst out with an incredulous laugh. “I understand that if I saw a horse with a leg this badly ‘sprung,’ I’d kill it out of mercy, then burn its poor corpse for fear the local dogs might gnaw on it and die.
Then I felt something inside me break and music began to pour out into the quiet. My fingers danced; intricate and quick they spun something gossamer and tremulous into the circle of light our fire had made. The music moved like a spiderweb stirred by a gentle breath, it changed like a leaf twisting as it falls to the ground, and it felt like three years Waterside in Tarbean, with a hollowness inside you and hands that ached from the bitter cold.
She felt the panic rising in her then. She knew. She knew how quickly things could break. You did the things you could. You tended to the world for the world’s sake. You hoped you would be safe. But still she knew. It could come crashing down and there was nothing you could do. And yes, she knew she wasn’t right. She knew her everything was canted wrong. She knew her head was all unkilter. She knew she wasn’t true inside. She knew.
I smiled,“Deoch, my heart is made of stronger stuff than glass. When she strikes she’ll find it strong as iron-bound brass, or gold and adamant together mixed. Don’t think I am unaware, some startled deer to stand transfixed by hunter’s horns. It’s she who should take care, for when she strikes, my heart will make a sound so beautiful and bright that it can’t help but bring her back to me in winged light.
Answers were always important, but they were seldom easy.
She’d strayed from the true way of things. First you set yourself to rights. And then your house. And then your corner of the sky. And after that... Well, then she didn’t rightly know what happened next. But she hoped that after that the world would start to run itself a bit, like a gear-watch proper fit and kissed wit oil. That was what she hoped would happen.
Cruelty never helped the turning of the world.
Some things simply were too true to stay. Some merely came to visit for a while.
But for half a minute she wished it was a different sort of day, even though she knew that nothing good could come from wanting at the world.
You’re sure your new roommate won’t be like the last one who wore tinfoil socks and had a tendency to occasionally urinate in the refrigerator. You’re sure you’ll pass Math 106 this time around. You’re determined to actually join some clubs this year and not just sit around in your dorm eating spray cheese from a can and watching youtube videos about cats.
There was a door, but it was terribly bashful, so Auri politely pretended not to see it.
My granda always told me that fall’s the time to root up something you don’t want coming back to trouble you.′ Kote mimicked the quaver of an old man’s voice. ‘Things are too full of life in the spring months. In the summer, they’re too strong and won’t let go. Autumn... ’ He looked around at the changing leaves on the trees. ‘Autumn’s the time. In autumn everything is tired and ready to die.
You’re my safe harbor in an endless stormy sea. You’re my shady willow on a sunny day. You’re sweet music in a distant room. You’re unexpected cake on a rainy day. You’re my bright penny on the roadside, you are worth more than the moon on the long night walk. You are sweet wine in my mouth, a song in my throat and laughter in my heart.
Soon. She knew. Soon he would come visiting. Incarnadine and sweet and sad and broken. Just like her.
Some days simply lay on you like stones. Some were fickle as cats, sliding away when you needed comfort, then coming back later when you didn’t want them, jostling at you, stealing your breath.
Asleep she was a painting of a fire. Awake she was the fire itself.
Normally I miss deadlines like a storm trooper misses Jedi.
She was weary and disappointed with all of everything.
She knew. She knew how quickly things could break. You did the things you could. You tended to the world for the world’s sake. You hoped you would be safe. But still she knew. It could come crashing down and there was nothing you could do.