Because either way, whichever life I build, has to be built on truth.
Because either way, whichever life I build, has to be built on truth.
I want to reach out and grab his hand and hold it to me, right over my heart, right where it aches the most. I don't know if doing that would heal me or make my heart break entirely, but either way this constant hungry waiting would be over.
Neither of us moves for a moment, locked instead in each other's eyes and in the branches of this Hill we might never finish climbing.
Why are some things easier to write than say?
Being with Ky, being with Xander -both things feel like standing in the light. Different types of light, but neither feels dark.
I wonder if death will always taste this good
None of that is supposed to matter. But somehow, it does.
You are strong enough to go without.
But I've already broken the glass; I've given the green away; I've made my choice.
I wonder if I will ever have the strength to hold onto something. Or if I will always be someone who destroys.
Only when I hold onto nothing can I be the best, only then can I be what they expect me to be.
Can you climb high enough to get above the clouds, look down on the rain from a place in the sun?
I wouldn't take that tablet Cassia. Not for a report. And perhaps not ever. You are strong enough to go without it.
Reading the situation correctly is part of getting through it safely.
Did the poet know how lucky he was, to have such beautiful words and a place to put them and keep them?
If I can't pull myself together soon he'll know somethings wrong. We know each other too well.
Red is the first color of spring. It's the real color of rebirth. Of beginning.
Each word I write brings me closer to finding the right ones.
If I couldn't name it, would I even know what it is? Would I even feel it at all?
Remembering is part of thinking, but not all of it.
Even if he didn't live his story, enough of us have lives just like it. So it's true anyway.
In the absence of real thunder, he's making his own.
Some things are created to be together.
Every minute you spend with someone gives them a part of your life and takes part of theirs.
Is falling in love with someone's story the same thing as falling in love with the person himself?
Sometimes it's faster and more efficient to destroy.
Growing apart doesn't change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I'm glad for that.
It is one thing to make a choice and it is another thing to never have the chance.
That word, calm, sounds impossibly beautiful, gloriously uncomplicated. A water-smooth word, a word that can take the edge away from fear, gloss it over, make it shiny. Calm. Gentle.
He's in pain. I am, too. It strikes me that perhaps this is part of what we are fighting to choose. Which pain we feel.
It is strange how we hold on to the pieces of the past while we wait for our futures.
That's when I realize that the statistics the Officials give us do not matter to me. I know there are many people who are happy and I am glad for them. But this is Ky. If he is the one person who falls by the wayside while the other ninety-nine are happy and fulfilled, that is not right with me anymore. I realize that I don't care about the Officer pacing below or the other hikers among the trees, or really anything else at all, and that is when I realize how dangerous this truly is.
His lips move silently, and I know what he says: the words of a poem that only two people in the world know.
It's hard to know which ways to be strong.
The two of us hold each other's gazes for a long, unembarrassed moment and I feel that Ky knows. I'm not sure what he knows - whether he knows me, or just something about me.
How can we appreciate anything fully when overwhelmed with too much?
It's never really lost to you as long as you remember it.
There's a reason they didn't keep this poem. This poem tells you to fight.
I am trapped in glass and I want to break out and breath deep but I?m too afraid that it will hurt.
Ky always acts as though someone watches him. And, apparently, he watches back.
This is the difference between us. I live to sort, he knows how to create.
And as the Society reminds us, there's a difference between knowledge and technology. Knowledge doesn't fail us.
I came up on the screen, too, Cassia. But he was the one you chose to see.
Ky's story, bit by bit, is turning to ash and nothing. Except. He remembers it, and now I do, too.
Water's always moving. It's never the same.
And I think, If i dared to ever open that paper, this would be the place.
I see his eyes, bright with life adnfire, and I know he won't stop fighting. Even if it's the kind of quiet fight on the inside that you can't always see. And I won't stop fighting either.
Lightning. Once it has forked, hot-white, from sky to earth, there is no going back
We could have been happy. I know that, and it is perhaps the hardest thing to know.
Are you congratulating me on my life, or on my death?
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories