how am I going to cover all this syllabus..
https://ngl.link/scorpiongrass
If you're playing me
bartan dhona is a therapeutic exercise
It's still like a dream in my mind
One must not transport infinity into love; one must know that it is a human thing.
It was crazy how she'd thought of him as venomous when he called her the same. Maybe they were both the poison. Maybe they were both the antidote,Maybe what they thought would infect them was going to cure them after all.
Trust was paramount, pivotal, powerful. If she couldn't trust someone to carry her baggage, how could she share it with them in the first place?
His hands began to play with her strands, in the way that she'd found hypnotic, lulling, on the street. It still was. She didn't understand why her brain felt it was safe for her to fall asleep, why it was sending those signals to her body. She didn't want to fall asleep, not like this, not with him and so many unsaid secrets between them, not when she didn't know what could happen.
But somehow, suddenly, her arms were like lead, her body heavy, her eyelids sluggish, made even more so by the gentle, repeated movement of his hands on her hair.
"We're not done," she mumbled. They weren't done talking. They would talk. But maybe after a nap.His steady heartbeat under her ear was nice. It felt so nice, just to stop her brain and let go.
"You seem to have a mistaken impression that you have a say in what I do with my life," she began. "Let me make it very clear. You don't. If I want to walk off a cliff, I will. If I want to take early morning walks with a handsome stranger, I will. If I want to apply for an award knowing it makes me bait, I will. You don't have a say in it."
Her chest was heaving by the end of the tirade, the number of words coming from her mouth surprising even her.
He sat still, watching her with icy eyes burning, the side of his mouth curled in that damn smirk. "Try it. Try walking off a cliff, I will block you. Try making yourself bait, I will catch you. And try being with another man, I will use his blood and make you the canvas."
His voice, the voice that had lured her into sea and choked her with smoke.
She wanted to ask him,
"Can you maybe stroke my hair and make my mind quiet for a little bit, mute my demons long enough for me to rest for a bit?"
She's always stopping me mid-reading and showing me hateful reels
She was here for the night with a man she did not know, a man who could be a monster's protégé, a man she had seen threaten to gouge, someone with a pencil, a man who could easily apply a little more pressure to her face and suffocate her and make her another statistic.
She was locked in for the night with Caz van der Waal.
When does a war end? When can I say your name and have it mean only your name and not what you left behind?
It took him a few moments, not too many but still too many, before he exhaled and pulled back, loosening his grip in her hair, now gentling it, stroking it, petting it, following the bend of each curl with his fingers as he'd done with his pencil two months ago, the memory becoming core in her mind.
It was so soothing, the motion of his hands, almost lulling her, relaxing her so much she could have fallen asleep standing up in the middle of the street.
God, she was so tired.
She walked back to the residential block, not knowing what she was going to do to dispel this sense of restlessness that seemed to have taken over her life. It never quietened, not when she was awake, not when she was asleep, and there was a part of her deep inside that just wanted to lie down on the street and close her eyes until it passed.
She felt tired.
Loneliness made fools out of all of them.
And thus the heart will break,yet beokenly live on.
The hunter did not hate the wolf. The wolf did not hate the sheep. But violence felt inevitable between them.
Perhaps, I thought, this was they way of world.
It would hunt you and kill you just for being who you are.
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