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Does it really matter if your cage is solid gold when you aren’t allowed to leave it? A cage is a cage, no matter how gilded.
But memory and time aren’t friends. They reject each other, they hurry in opposite directions, pulling the binding taut between them, threatening to snap. They fight, and we inexplicably lose. Memory and time. Always losing one as you go on with the other.
If those stars really are goddesses waiting to be born, I should warn them to stay where they are in the safety of their twinkling light. Because down here? Down here, life is dark and lonely, and it has noisy bells and not nearly enough wine.
One should never decide something as serious as bangs when they have a bottle of wine in their stomachs.
demurely
You can pretend a lot of things in life. You can pretend so well that you even start to believe your own deceit. We’re all actors; we’re all on pedestals with a spotlight shining on us, playing whatever part we need to in order to make it through the day—in order to help ourselves sleep at night.
You can have all the gold in the world and yet lack everything of real worth.
“Should we make a bet?” Sail nods enthusiastically, but Digby cuts in. “No.”
“Guard her a lot.”
It’s the arrogance of men, to think so little of women. And it’ll be their downfall too.
Men making deals on the behalf of women never seems to go very well for the women.
