To Stars Who Listen

“I don’t believe you,” he said. She could feel the slight tremors running through his body — tremors of stress, that meant he was holding himself very still. Holding himself back. “You don’t say things you don’t mean, Daisy —“

The Queen of Nothing, Holly Black

“Tell me again what you said at the revel,” he says, climbing over me, his body against mine. “What?” I can barely think. “That you hate me,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Tell me that you hate me.” “I hate you,” I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say it again, over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” He kisses me harder. “I hate you,” I breathe into his mouth. “I hate you so much that sometimes I can’t think of anything else.”

Has anyone else finished it yet? It was so good! I'm devestated that it's over, though. I've gotten too comfortable with series like Tmi that are six books long or Tog that's like 8 books long including the prequel. I was so happy at one part that I RAN into work. My manager was very concerned because the employees absolutely never look remotely happy when approaching the store, perhaps least of all myself.

American Gods, Neil Gaiman

But they don’t make you move. You have to do that for yourself.

addicted week: day two ☆ favorite ship ❝ she clings to me like i may slip through her arms, pull back and leave. i wouldn’t. i can’t. our love is rare. it’s one i can’t abandon, even if i tried. when she screams, an identical one rips through me. when she cries, my world rains with grief. when she loves, i truly, truly fly. i have never wanted anyone else but lily. ❞

credits to @artfeysnd on tt

i want to be someone you deserve.

We all stare around at each other. Engraining this last certain kind of picture. We started out practically unknown. Then we were swept into the limelight. Years of slowly entering fame culture. Years of protecting one another. Years of growing and missteps and falling backwards. I want to say in the end, but maybe this is still the middle. In the middle.

— Pablo Neruda, excerpt from Sonnett XVII (via naturaekos)

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