Matched

Growing apart doesn't change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I'm glad for that.

Every minute you spend with someone gives them a part of your life and takes part of theirs.

It is strange how we hold on to the pieces of the past while we wait for our futures.

Is falling in love with someone's story the same thing as falling in love with the person himself?

We could have been happy. I know that, and it is perhaps the hardest thing to know.

Now that I've found the way to fly, which direction should I go into the night?

Why are some things easier to write than say?

Cassia. I know which life is my real one now, no matter what happens. It’s the one with you. For some reason, knowing that even one person knows my story makes things different. Maybe it’s like the poem says. Maybe this is my way of not going gentle. I love you. (Ky Markham)

But if you were Matched," I say softly, "What do you think she'd be like?" "You," he says, almost before I've finished. "You.

That’s how I know they are dreams. Because the simple and plain and everyday things are the ones that we can never have. (Cassia Reyes)

So in the middle of all the noise, I point to the sky. I hope he understands what I mean, because I mean so many things: My heart will always fly his name. I won't go gentle. I'll find a way to soar like the angels in the stories and I will find him. And I know he understands as he looks straight at me, deep into my eyes. His lips move silently, and I know what he says: the words of a poem that only two people in the world know. Tears well up but I blink them away. Because if there is one moment in my life that I want to see clearly, this is it.

I think of how perhaps the best way to fly would be with hands full of earth, so you always remember where you came from.

I want to reach out and grab his hand and hold it to me, right over my heart, right where it aches the most. I don't know if doing that would heal me or make my heart break entirely, but either way this constant hungry waiting would be over.

Ky can play this game. He can play all of their games, including the one in front of him that he just lost. He knows exactly how to play, and that's why he loses every time.

Our time together feels like a storm, like a wild wind and rain, like something too big to handle but too powerful to escape.

I came up on the screen, too, Cassia. But he was the one you chose to see.

It is one thing to make a choice and it is another thing to never have the chance.

Red is the first color of spring. It's the real color of rebirth. Of beginning.

I wonder if I will ever have the strength to hold onto something. Or if I will always be someone who destroys.

His lips move silently, and I know what he says: the words of a poem that only two people in the world know.

I am trapped in glass and I want to break out and breath deep but I´m too afraid that it will hurt.

What is it about your voice that makes me want to hear you speak?

Did the poet know how lucky he was, to have such beautiful words and a place to put them and keep them?

How can we appreciate anything fully when overwhelmed with too much?

Remembering is part of thinking, but not all of it.

I love you." lightning. Once it has forked, hot-white, from sky to earth, there is no going back. It's time. I feel it, I know it. My eyes on him, his on me, and both of us breathing, watching, tired of of waiting. Ky close his eyes, but mine are still open. what will it feel like, his lips on mine? Like a secret told, a promise kept? Like that line in the poem-a shower of all my days- silvery rain falling all around me, where the lighting meets the earth? The whistle blows below us and the moment breaks. We are safe. For now.

Once you want something, everything changes. Now I want everything. More and more and more.