Dawn Williams

“Last night, lost in spaces between star—bays and lakes of clouds, I tossed and turned looking for you”
― john j geddes

“Jude ought to be cowed. She was supposed to bow and scrape, to submit and acknowledge his superiority. A little grovelling wouldn't have gone amiss. He would have very much liked it if she begged.

'Give up,' Cardan said, fully expecting that she would.

'Never,' Jude wore an unnerving little smile in the corners of her mouth, as though even she couldn't believe what she was saying. The most infuriating part was that she didn't have to mean it. She was mortal. She could lie. So why wouldn't she?

In this, there was no winning for her.

And yet, after he told her all the soft, menacing things he could think of, after he left her clambering back up onto the riverbank, he realised he was the one who had retreated. He was the one who backed down.

And all through that night and for many nights after, he couldn't rid his thoughts of her. Not the hatred in her eyes. That he understood. That he didn't mind. It warmed him.

But the contempt made her feel as though she saw beneath all his sharp and polished edges. It reminded him of how his father and all the Court had seen him, before he learned how to shield himself with villainy.

And doomed as she was, he envied her whatever conviction made her stand there and defy him.

She ought to be nothing. She ought to be insignificant. She ought not to matter.

He had to make her not matter.

But every night, Jude haunted him. The coils of her hair. The calluses on her fingers. An absent bite of her lip. It was too much, the way he thought about her. He knew it was too much, but he couldn't stop.

It disgusted him that he couldn't stop.

He had to make her see that he was her better. To beg his pardon. And grovel. He had to find a way to make her admire him. To kneel before him and plead for his royal mercy. To surrender. To yield.”
― Holly Black, How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories

“I admire you with the kind of love that wants to throw a chair your way just to see what you do. Do you know what I mean?”
― Karl Kristian Flores, The Goodbye Song

“DO NOT FALL IN LOVE WITH PEOPLE LIKE ME
Do not fall in love with people like me.
People like me will love you so hard
that you turn into stone,
into a statue where people come to marvel at how long
it must have taken to carve that faraway look into your eyes.

Do not fall in love with people like me.
We will take you to museums and parks and monuments
and kiss you in every beautiful place
so that you can never go back to them
without tasting us like blood in your mouth.

Do not come any closer.
People like me are bombs.
When our time is up, we will splatter loss all over your walls
in angry colors that make you wish your doorway
never learned our name.

Do not fall in love with people like me.
With the lonely ones.
We will forget our own names if it means learning yours.
We will make you think that hurricanes are gentle,
that pain is a gift.

You will get lost in the desperation, in the longing
for something that is always reaching,
but never able to hold.

Do not fall in love with people like me.
We will destroy your apartment.
We will throw apologies at you that shatter on the floor
and cut your feet.
We will never learn how to be soft.
We will leave.
We always do.”
― Caitlyn Siehl, What We Buried