“I would give you a crown if I could,” he said. “I would show you the world from the prow of a ship. I would choose you, Zoya. As my general, as my friend, as my bride. I would give you a sapphire the size of an acorn.”
Source: Rule of Wolves
“I can’t help the laugh that spills out next. But then he takes my chin with his fingers. “Your laugh,” he breathes. “I could drink an ocean’s worth.”
Source: A Dance of Lies
“And I will always be there."
Even before I know you.
Even after I've known you.
Even then.”
Source: Dead Astronauts
“No matter how many books you read, love cannot truly be understood through words alone. Real love is lived, felt, and endured.”
Source: Love, Loss and Life
“Writers are the custodians of memory...”
Source: On Writing Well: The Classic Guide to Writing Nonfiction
“Sometimes I feel like the seasons could come and go and come and go, a hundred years could pass, crumble and go back to the earth, and we would still be standing here frozen in time, because every second I'm with you is eternal. I've never felt anything like it.”
Source: Part of Your World / Yours Truly / Just for the Summer
“And sometimes,
I wonder if grief is just this:
the quiet falling of things
no one stays up to mourn.”
Source: A Shelf of Things I Never Said
“Letter two
You are becoming a ritual.
I write to you the way my mother folds clothes soft, deliberate,
half-aware of some absence that once wore them.
I hope you read slowly.
I hope you read like you’re scared to reach the end of me.”
Source: A Shelf of Things I Never Said
“The coffee went cold again.
You were always better at timing.
I keep drinking it anyway,
as if bitterness will bring you back.
The mug is cracked now.
Still, I hold it carefully
the way I should’ve held you.”
Source: A Shelf of Things I Never Said
“It doesn’t knock.
Doesn’t bloom like it used to.
Just shows up
in the way someone remembers how you take your tea.
In a song that doesn’t ache anymore.
It slips between the cracks of the day
in the quiet of forgotten habits,
in hands that don’t flinch when reaching for yours.
Love returns slowly.
In mismatched mugs,
and the softness of being asked if you’ve slept.
In laughter that feels like rinsed linen
clean, familiar, light.
It’s a slow thing,
like the light that finds its way through closed blinds.”
Source: A Shelf of Things I Never Said