"The night broke. The thunder cracked my brain finally. The rain is coming, I promise you. I didn’t mean to but your tears will bring life back. Purple flowers grow, the color blood looks in veins. They’ll sprout out of my chest. I promise you they’ll crack the ground, grow over the freeways, down the slopes to the sea. I’ll be in their faces. I’ll be in the waves, coming down on you from the sky.
I’ll be inside the one who holds you.
And then I won’t be."
-- Wasteland by Francesca Lia Block
When I first read Wasteland in eighth grade, I was stunned. I still am never tired of that book.
----------------------------------------I must be chemically unbalanced. A viral trigger, a carcinogen, something that would tilt the razor's edge past the boundaries of sanity. Logic instructs one thing; Instinct acts otherwise. It is easy to rationalize when there are no shuddering pulses, no smoldering cheeks, no chiseled jawline anchoring down the magnanimous voice -- but only until the voice is unchained.
Your words swallow my oxygen.
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