Imagine Me

To the world, she is formidable. To me? She is the world.

Come back to me, love. Come back.” I’m still struggling to breathe, desperately searching his eyes for answers. Explanations. “Where?” “Here,” he whispers, pressing my hands to his heart. “Home.

Come back to life, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.

Imagine me master of my own universe I am everything I ever dreamed of

Juliette Ferrars, one of the most feared, most lauded heroes of our known world, is crying over a dog.

Here. This. My bones against his bones. This is my home,

But it’s my wedding day,” she says. “And I have nothing to wear.” “You’re right.” I kiss the top of her head. “I’m going to kill him.

In the pain, I imagine bliss. My thoughts are like wind, rushing, curling into the depths of myself, expelling, dispelling darkness. I imagine love, I imagine wind, I imagine gold hair and green eyes and whispers, laughter I imagine Me extraordinary, unbroken the girl who shocked herself by surviving, the girl who loved herself through learning, the girl who respected her skin, understood her worth, found her strength s t r o n g s t r o n g e r strongest Imagine me master of my own universe I am everything I ever dreamed of

I want to hurt people all the time,” he says. “Sometimes I can’t sleep at night because I’m thinking about all the people I’d like to murder.

Hell, he says, "I've finally found hell.

It is only in the desperate seconds before death that we realize the windows against which we broke our bodies were only mirrors, all along.

You realize then that anger is safer than kindness, that isolation is safer than community. You shut everything out. Everyone. But some days, no matter what you do, the pain gets so bad you’d bury yourself alive just to make it stop.

You've always known me, love. I've always known you. And I'm so-I'm so desperately in love with you-

What reason would you have to be afraid of Warner? He’s such a nice guy. Loves children. Big talker. Oh, and bonus: He no longer murders people professionally. No, now murdering people is just a fulfilling hobby.

Every single time you claim to understand even a fraction of what I’m feeling, I want to disembowel you. I want to sever your carotid artery. I want to rip out your vertebrae, one by one. You have no idea what it is to love her,” he says angrily. “You couldn’t even begin to imagine. So stop trying to understand.

A spare. That’s all I ever was, I realize. A spare part kept in captivity. A backup weapon in the case that all else failed. Shatter me. Break glass in case of emergency.

He destroyed her dress the night before our wedding. Like a monster. I’m going to murder him.

I don’t think you’re crazy,” I say. “And I don’t think you’re a psychopath. I don’t think you’re a heartless murderer. I don’t care what anyone else says about you. I think you’re a good person.

She saved my life, that's for sure. Reached out a hand in the darkness. Pulled me out.

I have a heart, says science, but I am a monster, says society. And I know it, of course I know it. I know what I've done. I'm not asking for sympathy. But sometimes I think - somtimes I wonder - if I were a monster - surely, I would feel it by now?

Do you still remember how to do this? Or did you need me to feed you?” I stab a piece of tofu and point it in his direction. “Say ah. The tofu choo choo is coming.” “One more joke, Kishimoto, and I will remove your spine.

What happen to you man?"I whisper. "Where'd you go?" "Hell,"he says. "I've finally found hell.

but there’s something about the way he looks at me that makes him seem older than our years combined

In the darkness, I imagine light. … In the pain, I imagine bliss. … I imagine love, I imagine wind, I imagine gold hair and green eyes and whispers, laughter I imagine Me extraordinary, unbroken the girl who shocked herself by surviving, the girl who loved herself through learning, the girl who respected her skin, understood her worth, found her strength s t r o n g s t r o n g e r strongest Imagine me master of my own universe I am everything I ever dreamed of

Hell, he says. I've finally found hell.

We are flies--gathering, swarming--bulging eyes and fragile bones flittering nervously toward imagined destinies. We hurl our bodies at the panes of tentalizing windows, aching for the world promised on the other side. Day after day we drag injured wings and eyes and organs around the same four walls; opened or closed, the exits elude us. We hope to be rescued by a breeze, hoping for a chance to see the sun.

Some days, no matter how far back I go, I can’t seem to find the good times. Some days, the occasional happiness I’ve known feels like a bizarre dream. An error. Hyperreal and unfocused, the colors too bright and the sounds too strong. Figments of my imagination.

I feel as though my history is being rewritten, infinite paragraphs scratched out and hastily revised. Old and new images--memories--layer atop each other until the ink runs, rupturing the scenes into something new, something incomprehensible.

the inexplicable numbness in my mind that compels me to say— “Where did they make you?