Alara
@paperthin
“For I have known them all already, known them all—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.”
21 Mart
72 kütüphaneci puanı
378 okur puanı
Temmuz 2016 tarihinde katıldı
Sometimes he looks at his arms and is filled with a self-hatred so fiery that he can barely breathe: much of what his body has become has been beyond his control, but his arms have been all his doing, and he can only blame himself. When he had begun cutting himself, he cut on his legs—just the calves—and before he learned to be organized about how he applied them, he swiped the blade across the skin in haphazard strokes, so it looked as if he had been scratched by a crosshatch of grasses. No one ever noticed—no one ever looks at a person’s calves.
He is so lonely that he sometimes feels it physically, a sodden clump of dirty laundry pressing against his chest. He cannot unlearn the feeling.
“I’m lonely,” he says aloud, and the silence of the apartment absorbs the words like blood soaking into cotton.
Sayfa 397
“It’s odd, isn’t it,” Lightsong said, gesturing toward a pile of paintings. “Arranged like this, none of it looks beautiful anymore. When you put it together in piles, it just seems like junk.”
Llarimar raised an eyebrow.
“The value in something relates to how it is treated, your grace. If you see these items as junk, then they are, regardless of what someone else would pay for them.”
All this death, all this suffering, happening to nice people, good people who’d done nothing to deserve it, and no one able to stop it...
