The Siren

Books were a safe place, a world apart from my own. No matter what had happened that day, that year, there was always a story in which someone overcame their darkest hour. I wasn't alone.

There’s always room for love. Even if it’s as small as a crack in the door.

Love is a risk worth taking. I'd waited an eternity for this. I'd have waited all over again if I had to. I was meant to be kiss this boy, designed to be held by him. All the careful postures I held melted away, and I pulled him closer. We were stars. We were music. We were time.

It was like staring at a piece of art or the stars in the sky. I just had to watch him. -Kahlen, The Siren

Wanting to cry doesn't mean you can.

She would want me to forget all about him. But how could eyes not notice the light? How could lungs not acknowledge the air? There are just some things you can't ignore.

Whatever happened, I'd met my person, the one my soul connected to.

She told me to live. . . . I didn’t know how to tell Her that simply being alive was not enough to be called living.

Instead of worrying about taking, we should worry about giving. We can’t stop the take. But we can do a hell of a lot about the give.

We were stars, we were music, we were time.

Sometimes you have to give the hurt a noise and let it out. If you don’t, it fills you up with its emptiness.

It seems to me that we value individuality, but only to a point. When what sets one person apart from another is beyond our understanding or becomes too much to handle, we dismiss the quirk and the soul that accompanies it to give ourselves the greatest comfort. What does that accomplish?

Life is pointless. Love is pointless. And still, wouldn’t I do every second of it all over again?” “I’m guessing yes.“ “Undoubtedly. Yes.

I instantly dragged my fingers across a shelf of book spines, in love with each one already. Books were a safe place, a world apart from my own. No matter what had happened that day, that year, there was always a story in which someone overcame their darkest hour. I wasn't alone.

Life was just a collection of small decisions

It was the color of ice and honey and sky and rain mixed together into a sheet of flawless glass with broken frothy edges that tickled my feet

Am I talking too much?” He paused, staring into my eyes, genuine worry coloring his face. I shook my head. No, I thought, I’d listen to you talk about nearly anything. You make phone calls sound like an adventure.

And you, you make me feel like I could do the stupidest thing in the world, and you’d still like me how I am.

I’d waited an eternity for this. I’d have waited all over again if I had to. I was meant to kiss this boy, designed to be held by him.

We'll figure this out, I promise. I won't let you sink.

Come throw your heart into the waves Your soul is lost, and still it saves Drink me in and come undone Trade a thousand lives for one Come away, drink it in Drink and sink and let it end Drink and sink and let it end You are no more, you are no less For all must die, all must rest Bring your body unto me Let your graveyard be the sea Come away and drink it in Drink and sink and let it end Drink and sink and let it end

It’s weird, all the things that go into that feeling of being home.

I could tell in his face that I could burn the house down, and he’d just get out marshmallows and thank me for the lovely flame. I’m not sure I could make a mistake big enough for him not to forgive.

Wanting to cry doesn’t mean you can. Or at least not in any way that can give you some sort of satisfaction. It’s a luxury really. The same goes for songs and laughter, or the words whispered in the ear of a friend.

I held the water to my chest, and I loved.

For a small period of time, she was the only one who understood what I was feeling. She made me feel less isolated in my sadness.

I picked up another book, and we sat there in the happiest silence I’d ever known.

Akinli: You never told me your favorite color before you left Kahlen: So many, but mostly I like the color of autumn Akinli: The color of autumn...yea how everything looks like it's on fire Kahlen: But it's dying! Death never looked so lovely

I'm not sure what it is, but you look like you've made and broken a lot of things and then made them all over again.

I instantly dragged my fingers across a shelf of book spines, in love with each one already. Books were a safe place, a world apart from my own. No matter what had happened that day, that year, there was always a story in which someone overcame their darkest hour. I wasn’t alone.