Caighley

“Warm tingles trail under my skin, and I shiver.
“Please,” he says, dropping my hands so he can tuck one of his into my hair and tilt my head up to him. “Come with me to the symposium. And then come with me to the pub and the museum, to the park, to the sunset, to the sky.”
His cinnamon breath is warm on my lips, and I remember the night on the balcony under the stars when I wanted so badly for him to close the distance between us.
“You speak like a poet,” I whisper.
When he laughs, I feel the rumble of it where my hands rest against his chest, and my whole body trembles.
“Just say yes!” Lucy cries from behind the curtain. “For Artist’s sake, Myra!”
“Go to sleep!” I shout back, not taking my eyes from August.”
― Jessica S. Olson, A Forgery of Roses

“You're right, though. You do deserve to dance, wear pretty dresses, and eat fine foods. You are worth celebrating.'

Words have stuck in my throat. My body has gone completely numb.

'But they'll kill you if they find out the truth.' He pushes a lock of hair back over my shoulder. 'And a world without you in it? That's not a world I want to even imagine.”
― Jessica S. Olson, Sing Me Forgotten

“I would have loved you forever,' he says, his breath hot on my mouth.

I meet his gaze. 'And I will.'

His mouth dips against mine once more, but this time it is soft and gently, quiet and questioning, as though he is exploring every inch of my lips with his so that he might memorize them. They are gentle kisses. Kisses that know they cannot last. Kisses that beg for just a breath longer. Kisses that mean goodbye.”
― Jessica S. Olson, Sing Me Forgotten

“What I wouldn’t give to have him look at me the way he looked at Will. Like I’m worth something. Like I’m an Artist-damned human being.”
He tugs his gloves off one finger at a time. Pursing his lips, he holds his hands up so I can see the cracked cuticles.
“They hate that I’m like this,” he says, his voice so quiet I have to lean in to hear him. “I try so hard to be the man who has it all together, who doesn’t worry, who’s solid as stone. And yet it’s never enough for them. Mother’s always looking for new treatments, a cure-all that would make me calm and collected like my brother, as though she cannot be happy with me as I am.”
I grasp his hands and pull them down to his knees so I can meet his eyes. “You are not weak because you are not stone. In fact, I would say you’re stronger because you feel things so acutely. The internal battles you fight every day—you’ve conquered far more than you give yourself credit for. Despite what they’ve made you believe, you do not need to apologize for the things that make you different. And you shouldn’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not.”
― Jessica S. Olson, A Forgery of Roses