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When we were doing interviews for our bio, I described hearing that song for the first time to be like Sara was standing on my chest. I just felt really sad, and that was having heard all the other songs in order leading up to that one. I know that when Sara was writing these songs it was during the end of her relationship and it was someone she’d been friends with for almost ten years and been with for four years. It was just the psyche of it, when you’ve known someone for half your life, literally, and then have to leave them, and not necessarily because you want to but just because it’s the right thing to do, and it’s just not healthy and you’re not good anymore, there’s no growth and you have to have growth. And when I hear that song, the idea of that all happening just makes me sick to my stomach a little bit. But it’s in an enjoyable way. ↗
#dont-move-so-slow #end-of-a-relationship #i-can-t-take-it #really-sad #sara-quin
When your stomach turns somersaults every time you see your love interest, when you can go without eating for half a day because you can't think of anything else, and when the sound of her voice blocks out every possible distraction each time you hear it...then logic's role becomes a very minor one. ↗
Sorry," I said... "Sorry for what?" He glanced over at me. "For whatever I did wrong," I said. "Did you do something?" I shrugged, "Why are you not talking to me?" "I'm just driving." He moved his hand from the gearshift onto my leg. "Do you like snowmobiling?" "I love it," I said. He shot me a look. "Have you ever gone snowmobiling before?" "No," I said. He smiled. God, I hate his smile, I love it so much. ↗
The Ass I woke and rose and slipt away To the heathery hills in the morning grey. In a field where the dew lay cold and deep I met an ass, new-roused from sleep. I stroked his nose and I tickled his ears, And spoke soft words to quiet his fears. His eyes stared into the eyes of me And he kissed my hands of his courtesy. “O big, brown brother out of the waste, How do thistles for breakfast taste? “And do you rejoice in the dawn divine With a heart that is glad no less than mine? “For, brother, the depth of your gentle eyes Is strange and mystic as the skies: “What are the thoughts that grope behind, Down in the mist of a donkey mind? “Can it be true, as the wise men tell, That you are a mask of God as well, “And, as in us, so in you no less Speaks the eternal Loveliness, “And words of the lips that all things know Among the thoughts of a donkey go? “However it be, O four-foot brother, Fair to-day is the earth, our mother. “God send you peace and delight thereof, And all green meat of the waste you love, “And guard you well from violent men Who’d put you back in the shafts again.” But the ass had far too wise a head To answer one of the things I said, So he twitched his fair ears up and down And turned to nuzzle his shoulder brown. ↗
A house that lacks, seemingly, mistress and master, With doors that none but the wind ever closes, Its floor all littered with glass and with plaster; It stands in a garden of old-fashioned roses. I pass by that way in the gloaming with Mary; 'I wonder,' I say, 'who the owner of those is.' 'Oh, no one you know,' she answers me airy, 'But one we must ask if we want any roses.' So we must join hands in the dew coming coldly There in the hush of the wood that reposes, And turn and go up to the open door boldly, And knock to the echoes as beggars for roses. 'Pray, are you within there, Mistress Who-were-you?' 'Tis Mary that speaks and our errand discloses. 'Pray, are you within there? Bestir you, bestir you! 'Tis summer again; there's two come for roses. 'A word with you, that of the singer recalling-- Old Herrick: a saying that every maid knows is A flower unplucked is but left to the falling, And nothing is gained by not gathering roses.' We do not loosen our hands' intertwining (Not caring so very much what she supposes), There when she comes on us mistily shining And grants us by silence the boon of her roses. ↗
All right, Emma. You brought me in. You made your move. Just like I knew you would. A nice move. Now it's my turn. ↗
But what of you?” Gabriel said, and they were very close now, almost touching. “It is your choice to make now, to stay or return.” “I will stay,” Cecily said. “I choose the war.” Gabriel let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “You will give up your home?” “A drafty old house in Yorkshire?” Cecily said. “This is London.” “And give up what is familiar?” “Familiar is dull.” “And give up seeing your parents? It is against the Law …” She smiled, the glimmer of a smile. “Everyone breaks the Law.” “Cecy,” he said, and closed the distance between them, though it was not much, and then he was kissing her—his hands awkward around her shoulders at first, slipping on the stiff taffeta of her gown before his fingers slid behind her head, tangling in her soft, warm hair. She stiffened in surprise before softening against him, the seam of her lips parting as he tasted the sweetness of her mouth. When she drew away at last, he felt light-headed. “Cecy?” he said again, his voice hoarse. “Five,” she said. Her lips and cheeks were flushed, but her gaze was steady. “Five?” he echoed blankly. 907/1090 “My rating,” she said, and smiled at him. “Your skill and technique may, perhaps, require work, but the native talent is certainly there. What you require is practice.” “And you are willing to be my tutor?” “I should be very insulted if you chose another,” she said, and leaned up to kiss him again. ↗
#cecily #cecily-herondale #clockwork-princess #gabriel #gabriel-lightwood
