How could I possibly try to pretend the sunlight doesn’t exist, now that it’s taken so much of me?
I am confident, I am capable, and I will not wait to be rescued by a woodsman or a hunter.
Books didn’t make me wallow in darkness, darkness made me wallow in books.
Who made you Queen of Literacy? Go sit in your car!
Would I trade that in, give it away for the hunt? I stumble down the stairs of a subway. No. I couldn’t trade it in again. Not now that I know what it is to be loved. Not now that I’ve stepped out of the cave and into the sun.
I hesitate, then put my other hand on top of his. We’re partners. Always have been, even when I hate him, when he’s a thousand miles away, when he loves my sister... even when it’d be easier to go it alone for good.
And I am more alone than ever before.
I turn back to them, trying to maintain control of my emotions, trying to keep the two of them from seeing that I’m shaking in sorrow and anger and hurt.
Maybe I’m a masochist, but watching them together would hurt, sting with jealousy and betrayal. Hurt would be something, at least, some feeling to break up the dead, dull sensation I’ve been filled with for days now.
I recognize the look in Silas’s eyes – adoration. I furrow my eyebrows and try to shake away the feeling of being punched in the face.
It’s just that it’s impossible to be a broken or whole person. You can only be a person. You can only exist, you can only belong to yourself, and you can only be responsible for your own happiness or belonging or whatever. That broken-part-piece-whole thing is just a trick of the mortal mind.
The cruelest thing, hope, the way it strings you along, the way it makes you believe.
Maybe all you can do, when your world is burning, is hold on to the thing you love the most.
Freedom of speech doesn’t mean freedom from judgement.
Mortals always want something more- they wish for money, but what they’re really after is to be carefree. Power when what they really want is control. Beauty when they want love. Sometimes they know it, sometimes they don’t.
I like libraries. It’s a comfort that knowledge can be save for so long. That what we learn can be passed on.
I follow, always, because its the only time when our hearts beat in perfect harmony, the only time when Im certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we are one person broken in two.
My sister has the heart of an artist with a hatchet and an eye patch. And I, we both now know, have a heart that is undeniably, irreparably different.
Knowledge does have a way of making you an outcast.