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Something must always be lost if you’re ever to gain. Don’t fear this. You will never move forward if you never leave things behind.”
At least the last thing I will ever lay my eyes upon in this long life is a powerful woman of both beauty and fury. A soul delicate yet wild and so deeply moving—even if she does wish me dead.
In another life, I would’ve tried to know her. I would’ve admired her and read her poems written by my own hand. I would’ve walked with her through fields of stardrops, danced with her in the stream.
Mother used to say that grief always strikes when we least expect it, and that we rarely realize how those we love inhabit even the most seemingly inconsequential parts of our lives. It’s in those moments that the pain of their absence strikes so much deeper, because the time we took for granted suddenly shines in sharp relief.
I like her fire—too damn much. Enough that it’ll burn me if I’m not careful.
When I’m grieving, he provides comfort. When I’m angry, he lets me rage but tempers my fury. When I’m frightened, he’s right there beside me, facing whatever comes my way.
“You beautiful virago,” he says against my mouth. “I’m so godsdamned happy to see you.”
In another life, I would’ve tried to know her. I would’ve admired her and read her poems written by my own hand. I would’ve walked with her through fields of stardrops, danced with her in the stream. But this is not another life. And I’m beginning to wonder if it has to be.
He touches his mouth to my ear. “You can call me friend a thousand times, Raina, but I know you feel this.”
There is no love without fear, but no one told me that fear feasts on those with something to lose.
If my life is cut short, I will die happy because I had this time with you. But I will fight for more. I will fight for Colden. And I will fight for us.
