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Time won’t fix me. Time allows me to become more skillful at hiding how much I hurt inside. Time makes me a great liar. Because when it comes to grief, we all like to pretend.
“I didn’t love her nearly enough.”
There’s Kiaran’s anger again. It mirrors my own, except where mine is hot, his is the most frigid kind of cold.
“Shall I smother you with my protection until you can’t breathe or lift a damn finger to defend yourself?”
Sometimes I wonder if I’m even capable of love now.
“Such a prison you live in,” he murmurs without a hint of sarcasm. “I wonder how you breathe.”
“To take in all of this, every calm moment you can. Breathe in the sight so deeply that the memory becomes a fundamental part of you. Sometimes, it will be all that’s left to ground you.
Sometimes the memories we cling hardest to are the ones that hurt us the most.
“Unless I’m wrong. When you imagine yourself years from now, is it the Seer you’re with? Or is it you and me, planning our next slaughter?”
A lie is best told with a single grain of truth, a factual hook on which to hang the falsehood.
He doesn’t speak. Instead, he grasps me by the collar of my coat and presses his lips to mine. Kiaran kisses me deeply, with an urgency I never thought him capable of. He kisses me like he knows he’s going to die. He kisses me like the world is going to end.
“Aoram dhuit,” he breathes. “I will worship thee.”
