oreiade;

what’s she asked your favourite colour I answered midnight pink

“I think this is / the prettiest world—so long as you don’t mind / a little dying,”

And if we were to collect these small moments in a notebook and save them over a period of months we would see certain trends emerge from our collection—certain voices would emerge that have been trying to speak through us. We would realize that we have been having another life altogether; one we didn’t even know was going on inside us. And maybe this other life is more important than the one we think of as being real—this clunky day-to-day world of furniture and noise and metal. So just maybe it is these small silent moments which are the true story-making events of our lives.

“I will keep you,” he said softly, as sweet as black tea, “and I will keep you warm.”

Hecate would scarcely talk; she liked being solitary. She did not trust people. She trusted the unspoken instead. Her own forces were hidden and she loved to keep them hidden. She only enjoyed conversations about anguish and desire.