She only reads dedications at the start of books. It comforts her to know that, despite what horrors, joys, loss, and sadness lie between the covers, the author loved, and was loved. And, somehow, no mystery could ever equal that of a name, or just an initial, barely explained, but knowingly, hopefully, included.
“You say that you love rain, but you open your umbrella when it rains. You say that you love the sun, but you find a shadow spot when the sun shines. You say that you love the wind, but you close your windows when wind blows. This is why I am afraid, you say that you love me too.” — William Shakespeare
(Source: sleepylotus, via corkyb)
The doctor told us her heart was made of wax. It’s terrifying to look in the face of your beautiful child and realise you will forever have to crush their passions at the risk of melting her heart.
We knew she would grow to hate us, but even that we would have to quell. For her to live, she would have to live without any spark, a half-life. And so would we.
“
‘Tis true my form is something odd,
But blaming me is blaming God;
Could I create myself anew
I would not fail in pleasing you.
If I could reach from pole to pole
Or grasp the ocean with a span,
I would be measured by the soul;
The mind’s the standard of the man.
We drifted far out to sea, and you told me if we just held on, we’d never die.
(via brushstrokes)
“Sometimes it gets you, how quickly the present fades into the past.” — Clockwatchers
I was waiting for the day when I’d stop having premonitions and start having memories.