“Herondales.“ Zachariah’s voice was a breath, half laughter, half pain. "I had almost forgotten. No other family does so much for love, or feels so much guilt for it. Don’t carry the weight of the world on you, Jace. It’s too heavy for even a Herondale to bear.”
I like to imagine– sometimes, in the dead of night with only the stars left to act as witness I like to imagine a kinder world where we have never learned to swallow blood in our sleep.
I know that they say make-believe is a game for children, but darling, lover, half of my heart, none of us ever got to be children, really, so play along with me for a little while.
I know this world is not here, but maybe it exists somewhere– somewhere past the last twinkling star somewhere the moon cannot bear witness and the sun cannot reach somewhere prayers go to live Maybe it’s real beyond the space between your breath and mine.
And in this world, Sunlight is warm and gentle and welcome. There are no broken pieces of ourselves hidden in the shadows that scuttle away from daylight. There are no burial grounds in our chests tucked away like secrets where the sun cannot penetrate. The stars are just merry friends in the night, not a thousand eyes staring into our darkest corners. The wind does not whisper memories too faded to reach. The earth does not tremble with the weight of lives unlived.
And in this world, Your fingers and mine fit together like a key in a lock, instead of bullets clicking into place in the chamber of a gun. Purple is the colour of violets, not bruises, and the only red we know comes from sunrises on mountaintops.
Can you imagine it? If you close your eyes and breathe real slow, Can you see it past the nightmares dancing behind your eyelids? Can you hear it beyond the pounding of your heart like a death knell?