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“I am not safe. I cannot be too young or too old, too beautiful or too ugly. I cannot weep or rage. I cannot refuse a man nor fuck him nor marry him— a queen is only powerful i there are no kings or princes nearby."

Perhaps your lips remembered mine, and my hands recalled the shape of Yours; perhaps each time you touched me it left a subtle mark, so that my skin had become a map drawn in invisible ink, which might lead me back
to you.

Unless we were actually paper kites on a string, flying only where we were led.

The two of us were like a pair of merlins circling overhead, or two dancers in a line; with each pass, we drew a little nearer.

There had been a time when I had kissed your hand and a time when I hadn't; a time when I shivered alone all night, tormented by your absence, and a time I had slept beside you, tormented by your presence. A time when I had felt your mouth on mine, a second's stolen joy, and a time when I had only dreamed it.

At these times I found myself watching you, remembering the heat of your hand around mine, thinking of all the obvious ways two people might drive away the cold.

Your every gesture is an elegy. All the ordinary, unscripted labor of the road-tending the tack, skinning the kill, striking the flint, burying the offal-is lost to me, drowned by the bright lights of the stage.”