Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.
—  Rosemarie Urquico, Date a Girl Who Reads (in response to Charles Warnke’s You Should Date an Illiterate Girl)

“Mom?“ I said. She turned. "Can I talk to you about something?" 
"Of course, darling. Come here." 
I took a few steps into the room. There was so much I wanted to say. 
"I need you to be–” I said, and then I started to cry. 
“Be what?” she said, opening her arms. 
“Not sad,” I said.

Nicole Krauss, from The History of Love

I love your silences, they are like mine. You are the only being before whom I am not distressed by my own silences. You have a vehement silence, one feels it is charged with essences, it is a strangely alive silence, like a trap open over a well, from which one can hear the secret murmur of the earth itself.
—  Anaïs Nin, Under a Glass Bell
How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand… there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep, that have taken hold.
—  The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
and we sleep together like
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do
—  Charles Bukowski, from Bluebird

Tell me, have you seen a creature so sad? – that the sky and the sea both mistake it as their kin and try to offer one bucketful of affection after another – that the creature ends up drenched and blue many times over? Tell me if you have seen such creature, and if you have met it in a passing, lend it your umbrella, your raincoat, your boots, and even a hug. It needs to know that there are many others who walk underneath the same sky and swim in the same sea.

Dragon Age II Fanfic: Home

So it happens to be Sebastian Vael appreciation week, and I happened to get inspired to write something. Let’s just assume for the sake of this story that the song “The Bonnie Banks o’ Loch Lomond” exists in Thedas. This piece also contains a few of my headcanons for Sebastian (mainly regarding the Vael family tartan).

They say there is a special place in a man’s heart, a place where a longing for homeland lies. They call this place “nostalgia”. Sebastian supposed it called out to him in the hours just before dawn that day, as he went about cleaning the Kirkwall chantry. Perhaps the way the light filtered in through the windows inspired him, perhaps it was the rustle of cloth as he moved about. All he knew was that he had a sudden urge to hear a song from his youth again. Sebastian glanced around the chantry. There were hardly any sisters milling about, and goodness knows no one was expected to sing the Chant of Light every waking moment of the day. So he hummed the tune, getting his bearings before singing lowly.

“By yon bonnie banks, and by yon bonnie braes, where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond. Where me and my true love will never meet again, on the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond…”

As he swept, Sebastian continued on with his song, words he hadn’t heard in years coming back to him in the blink of an eye. He could picture the soft breeze rustling the trees, the banks of the Minanter river, and the glistening shine of the morning dew upon the streets of his homeland. Sebastian was so lost in memory that he did not hear Marian Hawke walking up behind him.

“That’s an awfully melancholy song for such a bright morning.”

Keep reading

Nary a ghost.

I slam the door on my way in and out of the house all day today to repel the thick silence; even this house has become as subdued as I am. Never again would I take the presence of another living being in this house for granted, never again.