Kelly

“Take a drink every time you hear a lie.
You're a great cook.
(They say as you burn toast.)
You're so funny.
(You've never told a joke.)
You're so...
... handsome.
... ambitious.
... successful.
... strong.
(Are you drinking yet?)
You're so...
... charming.
... clever.
... sexy.
(Drink.)
So confident.
So shy.
So mysterious.
So open.
You are impossible, a paradox, a collection at odds.
You are everything to everyone.
The son they never had.
The friend they've always wanted.
A generous stranger.
A successful son.
A perfect gentleman.
A perfect partner.
A perfect...
Perfect...
(Drink.)
They love your body.
Your abs.
Your laugh.
The way you smell.
The sound of your voice.
They want you.
(Not you.)
They need you.
(Not you.)
They love you.
(Not you.)
You are whoever they want you to be.
You are more than enough, because you are not real.
You are perfect, because you don't exist.
(Not you.)
(Never You.)
They look at you and see whatever they want...
Because they don't see you at all.”
― V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

“She recognized the strange happiness that came from loving something without knowing why you did, that strange happiness that was sometimes so big that it felt like sadness.”
― Maggie Stiefvater, The Raven Boys

“Mornings at 300 Fox Way were fearful, jumbled things. Elbows in sides and lines for the bathroom and people snapping over tea bags placed into cups that already had tea bags in them. There was school for Blue and work for some of the more productive (or less intuitive) aunts. Toast got burned, cereal went soggy, the refrigerator door hung open and expectant for minutes at a time. Keys jingled as car pools were hastily decided.”
― Maggie Stiefvater, The Raven Boys

“After all this time, she still had not found an end to her grief. It was a dark well, an echoing place into which she’d once cast a stone, sure that it would strike bottom and she would stop hurting. Instead, it just kept falling. She forgot about the stone, forgot about the well, sometimes for days or even weeks at a time. Then she would think Liliyana’s name, or her eye would pause on the little boat painted on her bedroom wall, its two-starred flag frozen in the wind. She’d sit down to write a letter and realize she had no one to write to, and the quiet that surrounded her became the silence of the well, of the stone still falling.”
― Leigh Bardugo, King of Scars