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It feels as if the doors of her world have been thrown wide, so many rooms added to a house she thought she knew.
Adeline still prays to the new God, when she must, but when her parents are not looking she prays to the old ones, too. She can do both: keep one tucked in her cheek like a cherry pit while she whispers to the other.
Day breaks like an egg yolk, spilling yellow light across the field.
The day passes like a sentence. The sun falls like a scythe.
He is smoke and skin, air and bone, and when his mouth presses against hers, the first thing she tastes is the turning of the seasons, the moment when dusk gives way to night. And
“I am flesh and blood and human, and I have known you all my life. You make charms in the shape of children to keep them well in winter. You think peaches are the sweetest fruit, and that church walls are too thick for prayers to get through, and you want to be buried not beneath a stone, but in a patch of shade under a large tree.”
attraction can look an awful lot like recognition in the wrong light.
“Of course they did. But I had to come. This is where the thinkers are. This is where the dreamers live. This is the heart of the world, and the head, and it is changing.”
He looks up, and smiles. “Good morning.” Two small words that move the world.
His heart has a draft. It lets in light. It lets in storms. It lets in everything.
He was trying to reach the place where he wouldn’t feel, but he thinks he might have passed it, wandered somewhere worse.
He didn’t realize how much connective tissue was made up of guilt. Without
He has asked the wrong god for the wrong thing, and now he is enough because he is nothing. He is perfect, because he isn’t there.
Ideas are wilder than memories.
They are Orpheus, she is Eurydice, and every time they turn back, she is ruined.
That time always ends a second before you’re ready. That life is the minutes you want minus one.
He pulls her close, and she smells of summer, she smells of time, she smells of home.
