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“Our women disappear,” she says, her voice wavering, but fierce, “and no one cares. No one searches. No one says their names,
but I say her name. Liana Reynolds. I didn’t have her body, but I had her name, and I came here to sacred ground and whispered it. The wind carried it to my ancestors. I asked them to recover her spirit. To take her home.”
“I came here to mourn. When it was time for the rite of passage from girlhood to womanhood, I came here to dance. We worship here; we wed here. The ground where you sit, our pews. The trees around you, our steeples. You are standing in our church.”
On rare occasion, you come across someone who just gets you, and you don’t have to figure out your place. Wherever you are is okay.
No way are they just gray. They are silver eyes. Not just the color, but the metal. Tough and tried and smelted beyond her years into this indescribable hue. Metal and mettle.
kennedy ryan has such gorgeous freaking writing
I imagine those brave Apache warriors, with the U.S. Cavalry and certain defeat before them and certain death behind. They chose death over surrender, leaping over the cliff’s edge and into the next life.
“I’m not judging you or anyone else,” I tell Mena. “Believe me. I know I’m in the virgin minority, but I’m just not that pressed. When it happens, it’ll happen, and I think I’ll know who that first time should be with.”
It’s not that late, and the streets still brim with conversations and laughter and people. Amsterdam is distinct and charming and wild and beguiling. It’s this amalgamation of medieval and modern that feels distinctly European to my American eyes.
it’s amazing, this makes me want to go back
Doc.”
i hate their nicknames for each other 🥴
“But I also refuse to let this planet go to crap without at least trying to convince people we should stop treating it like a bottomless trash can.”
i really do respect this, and appreciate the political commentary that kennedy ryan is making, but it’s so heavy handed and repetitive that it doesn’t feel authentic. maxim is such a flat, two dimensional character
“Besides, it’s the dreamers, the inventors and entrepreneurs who change the world the most. Gutenberg, Edison, Stephenson, Jobs—something
something about the present wasn’t good enough, so they made the future.” I almost choke on a jaded chuckle. “What do politicians make? They make war. They make profit off the misfortune of others. They make mistakes they won’t take responsibility for and decisions they never have to feel the impact of. No, thank you. Not for me.”
the sun’s swan dance. “Like living on another planet.” He’s right. The perfectly flat, lifeless plateau appears so starkly white you forget color. The quiet rests in a well so deep you don’t remember sound. And the loneliness some days grows so thick, it’s impenetrable and you forget how it feels to be touched.
“Hope is hard.” I close my eyes to block out her persistent concern. “Hope hurts when it doesn’t deliver.”
“God, you are a fool if you believe that. Every statistic, every news story, every broken promise and dead girl tells me we don’t live in the same world, and we have different battles to fight. You go fight yours and leave me to fight mine.”
“Some would call your perspective radical.” “Some would be right,” I say with my sweetest smile.
one of my favorite lines
“Would you just shut it?” I glance around to make sure no one heard. “You’re the worst beard ever.” “Am not.”
“Are too. He’s more likely to believe I’m dating Kimba at the rate you’re going, falling at his feet and shit.”
“I just admire him and would like to have actual conversations with him about real world issues.”
LOL aww
.” Her sigh is disgusted.
Kimba is literally me
“Girl, what’d I say?”
LOL
