fatma

“Even poetry, which breaks language into meaning - poetry ossifies, in time, the way trees do. What’s supple, whipping, soft and fresh grows hard, grows armor. If I could touch you, put my finger into your temple and sink you into me the way Garden does - perhaps then. But I would never.”
― Amal El-Mohtar, This Is How You Lose the Time War

“She read novels and underlined passages that felt special to her in big streaks of red pen. These novels were about civilised women who holidayed in Europe, women whose lives weren't rotten or shameful. Someday, she thought, someday. She would burn her face off to become one of these women.”
― Nicole Flattery, Show Them a Good Time

“I didn't tell him, I never told him. Not in a way that he believed. Not in a way that he could let in and hold on to. Everything he was to me. That he was everything.
Simon, Simon . . .
You were the sun, and I was crashing into you.
I'd wake up every morning and tell myself . . .
I'd tell myself . . .
"You live in fear! In denial!"
Simon is on the ground. His wing is bent the wrong way. His blood is red and abundant. It smells like brown butter. His hair is a mess, his face is in the sand. He doesn't know how much I love him. He's never really heard it.
I'd wake up every morning and tell myself . . .
"Simon . . . love . . . get up. We still have to save Agatha."
Simon is on the ground.
This will end in flames.”
― Rainbow Rowell, Wayward Son

“Sometimes Simon kisses me like it’s the end of the world, and I worry he might believe that it is.”
― Rainbow Rowell, Wayward Son