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The seeds are tiny, unborn things, and I resent them. They'll be planted and they'll grow into exactly what they're meant to be.
Lauren DeStefano
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Lauren DeStefano
Age: 40
Born: 1984
Born: October 13
Author
Novelist
Connecticut
United States
Meant
Exactly
Grow
Grows
Planted
Things
Unborn
Resent
Seeds
Tiny
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The thing about hope is that it doesn't go away even when it serves no purpose.
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She's been conned, ruined, left for dead, and she's not going to forgive any of it. She will soldier on, if only out of spite.
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It is the face of a girl who has seen the world, who realizes that it hates her, and who hates it in return.
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Hope, that risky, illustrious thing. It should have gone extinct by now, but we keep it alive.
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I stare at her collarbone that's framed with lace, the hollow of her throat, her shoulders that rise with each rise with the weight of her next breath. We're fragile things. Our bones show through our skin. What would any god want with us?
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I never wanted to live forever, she says. I just wanted enough time.
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You've been captive for so long that you don't even realize you want freedom anymore.
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Childhood is a long, long road, from which that dark whispering forest of death seems an impossible destination.
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Bet you never eat, he says. Bet you drink up the oxygen like it's butter. Bet you can go for days on nothing but thoughts.
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I lost everyone I loved, I tell him. I wait for him to look at me, and then I add, The day I met you.
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