Indigo Love Quotes

The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real ... for a moment at least ... that long magic moment before we wake. Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true? We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La. They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to middle Earth.

I don't care if you say we can't be together. I don't care if you think I'm the most evil, unnatural creature walking on earth. You can think whatever you want, go whatever you want. I'm going to just go on loving you, even if it's hopeless.

I'll just love you whether you want me to or not.

You're not as much of a lost cause as she was. I mean, with her, I had to overcome her deep, epic love with a Russian warlord. You and I just have to overcome hundreds of years' worth of deeply ingrained prejudice and taboo between our two races. Easy.

Because I’ve got a lot more terms of endearment to use. Honey pie. Sugarplum. Bread pudding." “Why are they all high-calorie foods?

He was too perfect, despite being one of the most imperfect people I knew.

I realized I’m in love. It's always been right in front of me.

But when I touch you, your aura … it smolders. The colors deepen, it burns more intensely, the purple increases. Why? Why, Sydney?” He used that hand to pull me closer. “Why do you react that way if I don’t mean anything to you?” There was a desperation in his voice, and it was legitimate.

Because I can't help doing it," he said with a shrug. "And hey, if I keep loving you, maybe you'll eventually crack and love me too. Hell, I'm pretty sure you're already half in love with me." "I am not! And everything you just said is ridiculous. That's terrible logic." Adrian returned to his crossword puzzle. "Well, you can think what you want, so long as you remember-no matter how ordinary things seem between us-I'm still here, still in love with you, and care about you more than any other guy, evil or otherwise, ever will." "I don't think you're evil." "See? Things are already looking promising.

I’m not a warrior or a goddess,” I said at last. Adrian leaned closer. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re both.

I know I’m not supposed to say this, but I love you.

Everything about her has to do with me.

Well, you can think what you want, so long as you remember - no matter how ordinary things seem between us - I'm still here, still in love with you, and care about you more than any other guy, evil or otherwise, ever will.

I love you, and beneath all that logic, calculation, and superstition, I know you love me too.

Whatever happened to the dragon?" I mustered my primmest tone. "He has a name, you know." Adrian pulled back and gave me a curious look. "I didn't know, actually. What'd you decide on?" "Hopper." When Adrian laughed, I added, "Best rabbit ever. He'd be proud to know his name is being passed on." "Yes, I'm sure he would. Did you name the Mustang too?" "I think you mean the Ivashkinator." He stared at me in wonder. "I told you I loved you, right? "Yes," I assured him. "Many times.

And besides . . . I don’t want to leave you. Er, you guys.” He smiled, and it lit up his whole face. “Well, ‘we’ are certainly happy to hear that. Oh, and I’m also happy to watch our darling little love child dragon while you’re in St. Louis.” I grinned back.

Wow,” said Adrian. He sat down on the bed and tested its bounciness, giving it a nod of approval. “This is amazing. What do you think, buttercup?” “I have no words,” I said honestly. He patted the spot beside him. “Want to try it out?

Sage.” He laughed. “I’m into anything, so long as you’re with me.

I know I’m not supposed to say this,” he said. “But I think I love you more than ever.” I took his hand and tried not to think about how happy his words made me.

My nails dug into his back, and he trailed his lips down the edge of my chin, down the center of my neck. He kept going until he reached the bottom of the dress’s V-neck. I let out a small gasp, and he kissed all around the neckline, just enough to tease.

His eyes were on his heart, completely caught up in his work. 'Just something kicking around in my head. Reminds me of you. Fiery and sweet, all at the same time. A flame in the dark, lighting my way.' His voice... his words... I recognized one of his spirit-driven moments. It should've unnerved me, but there was something sensual about the way he spoke, something that made my breath catch. A flame in the dark.

So many details came into focus. The shape of his lips, the line of his neck. “I’m not dangerous,” I breathed. He brought his face toward mine. “You are to me.” And somehow, against all reason, we were kissing. I closed my eyes, and the world around me faded.

It doesn’t matter,” said Adrian, smiling. He rested a hand on my shoulder. “Some things are worth the trouble.

Adrian smiled and clasped my hands, taking a few steps toward me. "And as for who you are, you’re the same beautiful, brave, and ridiculously smart caffeinated fighter you’ve been since the day I met you.” Finally, he put “beautiful” at the top of his list of adjectives. Not that I should have cared. “Sweet talker,” I scoffed. “You didn’t know anything about me the first time we met.” “I knew you were beautiful,” he said. “I just hoped for the rest.

You know," he said, "under normal circumstances, you inviting me to the bedroom would be the highlight of my day." I crossed my arms and sat on the bed. I did so out of simple fatigue, but a moment later, I was struck by what I was doing. This is where Adrian sleeps. I'm touching the covers he's wrapped in every night. What does he wear? Does he wear anything? I jumped up.

I’m still here, still in love with you, and care about you more than any other guy ever will." -Adrian-

You can think whatever you want, do whatever you want. I'm going to just go on loving you, even if it's hopeless.

Yes, I-- I think I love her. Is that nuts?

I wanted him. I arched my back, fully aware of how vulnerable that made me and that I was giving him an invitation. He accepted it and laid me back against the table, bringing his body down on top of mine. That crushing kiss of his moved from my mouth to the nape of my neck. He pushed down the edge of my dress and the bra strap underneath, exposing my shoulder and giving his lips more skin to conquer.

I know I'm not supposed to say this,” he said. “But I think I love you more than ever.

I gave him a smile that I hoped was as dazzling as one of his. "I realized I'm in love." Marcus, startled, looked around as though he expected to see my object d'amour in the car with us. "And you just realized this? Did you just have some sort of vision?" "Didn't need to," I said, thinking of Wolfe's ill-fated trip to the Orkneys. "It's always been right in front of me.

You will not! It's wrong." "What, kissing you, or kissing you in Pies and Stuff?

We all have the ability to heal ourselves; I know, I have done so... In the morning, know that you are Loved, You Are Love and You Love

Kizzy wanted to be a woman who would dive off the prow of a sailboat into the sea, who would fall back in a tangle of sheets, laughing, and who could dance a tango, lazily stroke a leopard with her bare foot, freeze an enemy's blood with her eyes, make promises she couldn't possibly keep, and then shift the world to keep them. She wanted to write memoirs and autograph them at a tiny bookshop in Rome, with a line of admirers snaking down a pink-lit alley. She wanted to make love on a balcony, ruin someone, trade in esoteric knowledge, watch strangers as coolly as a cat. She wanted to be inscrutable, have a drink named after her, a love song written for her, and a handsome adventurer's small airplane, champagne-christened Kizzy, which would vanish one day in a windstorm in Arabia so that she would have to mount a rescue operation involving camels, and wear an indigo veil against the stinging sand, just like the nomads. Kizzy wanted.

Maybe I was in love, but I was still me, after all.

I know I’m not supposed to say this," he said. "But I think I love you more than ever.

All that mattered was that he was Adrian, my Adrian. My match. My partner in crime, in the long battle I’d just signed on for to right the wrongs in the Alchemist and Moroi worlds. Maybe Marcus was right that I’d also signed myself up for disaster, but I didn’t care. In that moment, it seemed that as long as Adrian and I were together, there was no challenge too great for us.

Do you know what I see in you now? The usual aura. A steady golden yellow, healthy and strong, with spikes of purple here and there. But when I do this. . . .” He rested a hand on my hip, and my whole body tensed up. That hand moved around my hip, slipping under my shirt to rest on the small of my back. My skin burned where he touched me, and the places that were untouched longed for that heat. “See?” he said. He was in the throes of spirit now, though with me at the same time. “Well, I guess you can’t. But when I touch you, your aura . . . it smolders. The colors deepen, it burns more intensely, the purple increases. Why? Why, Sydney?” He used that hand on me to pull me closer. “Why do you react that way if I don’t mean anything to you?” There was a desperation in his voice, and it was legitimate.

Let me get this straight. The future of our relationship hinged on advice from a fifteen-year-old girl, a probably untrue story from a one-eyed Chihuahua trainer, and me unromantically - yet skillfully - kissing you on top of silverware and china?

The evening blessed us with a sunset to rival a painting by Carpaccio in its colours. The sky mutated from shades of ultramarine and azure to vermilion and ochre, then strips of violet and finally indigo.

I have something for you.” “Yeah? What? Is it shiny?” They both waited until Indigo had jogged away before resuming their conversation. “So,” Riley asked, “what have you got for me?” Taking his hand, she placed it palm-down over her heart. It would hurt like a bitch, she thought, but he was hers to protect as much as she was his. “Me.” And she opened up her soul, laid herself bare.

I'm not going to give you a hard time. I'm just going to love you whether you want me to or not.

And hey, if I keep loving you, maybe you'll eventually crack and love me too.

She dumped me for the quarterback after she'd played my body like a banjo. So Sad." "I bet" "I'm serious. I was heartbroken." "For how long?" "A whole week." An eternity in the life of a teenage boy.

You and I have been through too much together. We're too close, too connected. I wasn't that crazy on spirit when I said you're my flame in the dark. We chase away the shadows around each other. Our backgrounds don't matter. What we have is bigger than that. I love you, and beneath all that logic, calculation, and superstition, I know you love me too.

Shades of the rich ruby love she’d felt during the game mixed with hues of deep-indigo hurt, turning everything just a little bit violet.

Oh, and I’m also happy to watch our darling little love child dragon while you’re in St. Louis.

We chase away the shadows around each other.

Darling Daddy, This is Rose. The shed needs new wires now it has blown up. Caddy is bringing home rock-bottom boyfriends to see if they will do for Mummy. Instead of you. Love, Rose.

Sydney, don't leave Adrian because of me." "It's more complicated than that," I said automatically. "It's really not," she said. "From everything I've seen and heard, you're just afraid. You've always controlled every detail of your life. When you couldn't-like with the Alchemists-you found a way to seize back that control." "There is nothing wrong with wanting control," I snapped. "Except that we can't always have it, and sometimes that is a good thing. A great thing, even," she added. "And that's how it is with Adrian. No matter how hard you try, you aren't going to be able to control your feelings for him. You can't help loving him, and so you're running away. I'm just an excuse.

I'm done with the pouting," he said. "Done with being moody—well, I mean, I'm always a little moody. That's what Adrian Ivashkov's all about. But I'm done with the excessive stuff. That didn't get me anywhere with Rose. It won't get me anywhere with you." "Nothing will get you anywhere with me," I exclaimed. "I don't know about that." He put on an introspective look that was both unexpected and intruiging. "You're not as much of a lost cause as she was. I mean, with her, I had to overcome her deep, epic love with a Russian warlord. You and I just have to overcome hundreds of years' worth of deeply ingrained prejudice and taboo between our two races. Easy.

This was war.Who the hell cared about playing fair?

There I am in my younger days, star gazing Painting picture perfect maps Of how my life and love would be Not counting the unmarked paths of misdirection My compass, faith in love's perfection I missed ten million miles I should have seen.

Englishmen do love to bury one thing so completely in another that the two can only be separated by force: peanuts in candy, indigo in glass, Africans in irons. Standing

I see how it is,” I snapped. “You were all in favor of me breaking the tattoo and thinking on my own—but that’s only okay if it’s convenient for you, huh? Just like your ‘loving from afar’ only works if you don’t have an opportunity to get your hands all over me. And your lips. And . . . stuff.” Adrian rarely got mad, and I wouldn’t quite say he was now. But he was definitely exasperated. “Are you seriously in this much self-denial, Sydney? Like do you actually believe yourself when you say you don’t feel anything? Especially after what’s been happening between us?” “Nothing’s happening between us,” I said automatically. “Physical attraction isn’t the same as love. You of all people should know that.” “Ouch,” he said. His expression hadn’t changed, but I saw hurt in his eyes. I’d wounded him. “Is that what bothers you? My past? That maybe I’m an expert in an area you aren’t?” “One I’m sure you’d just love to educate me in. One more girl to add to your list of conquests.” He was speechless for a few moments and then held up one finger. “First, I don’t have a list.” Another finger, “Second, if I did have a list, I could find someone a hell of lot less frustrating to add to it.” For the third finger, he leaned toward me. “And finally, I know that you know you’re no conquest, so don’t act like you seriously think that. You and I have been through too much together. We’re too close, too connected. I wasn’t that crazy on spirit when I said you’re my flame in the dark. We chase away the shadows around each other. Our backgrounds don’t matter. What we have is bigger than that. I love you, and beneath all that logic, calculation, and superstition, I know you love me too. Running away and fleeing all your problems isn’t going to change that. You’re just going to end up scared and confused.” “I already feel that way,” I said quietly. Adrian moved back and leaned into his seat, looking tired. “Well, that’s the most accurate thing you’ve said so far.” I grabbed the basket and jerked open the car door. Without another word, I stormed off, refusing to look back in case he saw the tears that had inexplicably appeared in my eyes. Only, I wasn’t sure exactly which part of our conversation I was most upset about.

Nothing will get you anywhere with me," I exclaimed. "I don't know about that." He put on an introspective look that was both unexpected and intriguing. "You're not as much of a lost cause as she was. I mean, with her, I had to overcome her deep, epic love with a Russian warlord. You and I just have to overcome hundreds of years' worth of deeply ingrained prejudice and taboo between our two races. Easy.

And for the first time in a long time, I knew the man holding me tight wouldn’t let me fall.

I was so distracted when walking out of the restroom that I hadn't noticed Rose standing nearby with Dimitri Belikov. They stood arm in arm, smiling at my surprise. I hadn't seen Dimitri tonight, and his black and white guardian attire told me why. He was on duty here and had undoubtedly been one of the shadows darting among the trees of the greenhouse, keeping a watch on everyone. He must be on break now because there was no way he'd be standing so casually here, even with Rose, otherwise. And really, "casual" for Dimitri meant he could still leap into battle at any moment. They were a striking couple. His dark-haired, dark-eyed looks matched hers, and they were both dazzlingly attractive. It was no wonder Adrian had fallen for her, and I felt surprised at how uncomfortable that memory made me. Like Sonya and Mikhail, there was a bond of love between Rose and Dimitri and Rose that was almost palpable.

She’d told me that one day, she hoped I’d find a man who’d fight with me. Who’d love me even when he wanted to strangle me. Who’d never quit fighting because what we had was worth a few angry words.

Do you really want him to get over you?

Englishmen do love to bury one thing so completely in another that the two can only be separated by force: peanuts in candy, indigo in glass, Africans in irons.

You can't fuck somebody into loving you.

There's so much love in him, Dad." The mating bond showed her a depth of feeling, of heart, even greater than she'd imagined. He was someone special, Andrew Liam Kincaid, and he was hers. "I wish you could see him as I do." "That would be against the laws of nature," Abel said in a somber tone. "I have to be able to kick his ass if necessary-- therefore, I must see him as the filthy bastard who dared hurt my daughter by getting himself shot." "Are you threatening my mortally wounded mate?" Her father pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'll hold of until he's healthy.

Darling Daddy, This is Rose. So flames went all up the kitchen wall. Saffron called the fire brigade and the police came too to see if it was a trick and the police woman said to Saffron Here You Are Again because of when I got lost having my glasses checked. But I was with Tom whose grandmother is a witch on top of the highest place in town. Love, Rose.

If I keep loving you, maybe you'll crack and love me too.

He caught hold of my hand. “Sydney, please don’t do this,” he begged. “No matter how confident you feel, no matter how careful you think you are, things will spiral out of control.” “They already have,” I said, opening the passenger door. “And I’m going to stop fighting them. Thank you for everything, Marcus. I mean it.” “Wait, Sydney,” he called. “Just tell me one thing.” I glanced back and waited. “Where did this come from? When you called me to tell me you were coming, you said you’d realized it was the smart thing to do. What made you change your mind?” I gave him a smile that I hoped was as dazzling as one of his. “I realized I’m in love.” Marcus, startled, looked around as though he expected to see my object d’amour in the car with us. “And you just realized that? Did you just have some sort of vision?” “Didn’t need to,” I said, thinking of Wolfe’s ill-fated trip to the Orkneys. “It’s always been right in front of me.

And then the kissing started again. There was no avoiding it, not when we were together like this, far away from the real world of our normal lives. The setting was too perfect. He was too perfect, despite being one of the most imperfect people I knew. And honestly, we'd wasted far too much time with doubts and games. The one thing you learn from constantly having your life in danger is that you'd better not waste it.

Power is a tricky thing, mija. It can lift you up high on its wings and up into the sky where you feel invincible. But sometimes you forget the bigger thing that makes you fly. Without God, without love, you fall. You stop being grateful and humble, and you fall." pg. 230

I am the Constellation of my own

And finally, I know that you know you’re no conquest, so don’t act like you seriously think that. You and I have been through too much together. We’re too close, too connected. I wasn’t that crazy on spirit when I said you’re my flame in the dark. We chase away the shadows around each other. Our backgrounds don’t matter. What we have is bigger than that. love you, and beneath all that logic, calculation, and superstition, I know you love me too. Running away to Mexico and fleeing all your problems isn’t going to change that. You’re just going to end up scared and confused.

Come summer rain and winter snow, My love is there wherever you go; Over mountains high and oceans deep, My love will guide you awake or asleep.

She had once told Jacks that she would gladly take an uneventful happily ever after, but truthfully, she would much rather have this life with Jacks, which would never be uneventful. (Indigo Exclusive Edition bonus chapter).

I'm talking about an intense, private bonding between a dominant personality and a submissive one. Between two people who have chosen to make a loving gift to one another of themselves...not just of their bodies, but of the parts of themselves that they hold back from the rest of the world. The control dynamic in a relationship like that may look uneven, but the power is really quite...balanced

There are all sorts of families," Tom's grandmother had remarked, and over the following few weeks Tom became part of the Casson family, as Micheal and Sarah and Derek-from-the-camp had done before him. He immediately discovered that being a member of the family was very different from being a welcome friend. If you were a Casson family member, for example, and Eve drifted in from the shed asking, "Food? Any ideas? Or shall we not bother?" then you either joined in the search of the kitchen cupboards or counted the money in the housekeeping jam jar and calculated how many pizzas you could afford. Also, if you were a family member you took care of Rose, helped with homework (Saffron and Sarah were very strict about homework), unloaded the washing machine, learned to fold up Sarah's wheelchair, hunted for car keys, and kept up the hopeful theory that in the event of a crisis Bill Casson would disengage himself from his artistic life in London and rush home to help.

I love people who play guitars on roofs!" said Rose, hopping along the pavement in one of her sudden happy moods. "Don't you?" "Never knew anyone else who did it!" "Don't you like Tom?" "Of course I do. But I don't know about all the other guitar-on-roof players! They might be really awful people, with just that one good thing about them. Playing guitars on roofs... or bagpipes... Or drums... Sarah would like that, and Saffy could have the bagpipes! Caddy could have a harp.... What about Mum?" "One of those gourds filled with beans!" said Rose at once. "And Daddy could have a grand piano. On a flat roof. With a balcony and pink flowers in pots around the edge! And I'll have a very loud trumpet! What about you?" "I'll just listen," said Indigo.

And I make a little vow then, to myself. To not let the backs and forths of forgiveness interrupt the steadiness of love.

You can think whatever you want, do whatever you want... I'm going to just go on loving you, even if it's hopeless." - Adrian Ivashkov

Invisible ice on the stairs,” I told Adrian. “I know I’m not supposed to say this,” he said. “But I think I love you more than ever.

I loved literally everything about this man; even his ex-wife.

Even when your heart is blue, I'll safely hold it. I really don't mind these indigo-stained hands.

Is it too much of a sin, my desire to be loved?

You don't do I miss you texts. You do I love you texts, I can't wait to see you texts, I'm thinking about you texts, but never I miss you texts. And when you did, I knew you needed me.

Darling Daddy, This is Rose. Saffy says everyone says it is Indigo's fault that their Head has two black eyes and a swelled-up nose. Love from Rose. P.S. Sarah who is here says to tell you love from wheelchair woman too. Rose's father telephoned especially to tell Rose not to call Sarah Wheelchair Woman. "That's what she called herself," protested Rose. "She thought of it! Aren't you worried about what I told you about Indigo and the Head?" "What?" asked Bill. "Oh that! Two black eyes and a swollen nose! I don't think I can believe that one, Rose darling!

Your experience on this planet is as unique as one of the billions of stars in the clear indigo sky, and yet I believe you and I are on the same journey—one in which the Essential Self is emerging into conscious experience, shifting out of separation and suffering into connection and bliss.

I love that he loves my eyes and that the expresses it every chance he has. I love everything about him. I'm not crazy about the weird way he ties his shoes, but I guess I can cope with that for now.

Darling Daddy, Poor Saffy. She had a big fight in the boys toilets on Monday, did you know? A very big fight and Sarah helped and it was terrifying. Said a boy in my class who has a brother who was there. Saffy washed her hands and said Never Ever Never Dare You Touch My Brother. (Indigo). And the plug holes were blocked with hair. Love from Rose. -Sarah's mother has given us soup. Soup soup soup and then it was all gone. L.F.R.

Things That Cannot Be Compared Summer and winter. Night and day. Rain and sunshine. Youth and age. A person’s laughter and his anger. Black and white. Love and hatred. The little indigo plant and the great philodendron. Rain and mist. When one has stopped loving somebody, one feels that he has become someone else, even though he is still the same person. In a garden full of evergreens the crows are all asleep. Then, towards the middle of the night, the crows in one of the trees suddenly wake up in a great flurry and start flapping about. Their unrest spreads to the other trees, and soon all the birds have been startled from their sleep and are cawing in alarm. How different from the same crows in daytime!

Darling Daddy, This is Rose. Very good news. Caddy is going to marry Micheal. In case you have forgotten because you have not been home for so long he is the one with the ponytail and the earring that you do not like. And Caddy says she will have a white lace dress and three bridesmaids, Saffron and Sarah and me, and a big party for everyone, all her old boyfriends too. Fireworks. A band. A big tent called a marquee. But where will we put it? Carriages with white horses for us all to go to the church. Afterward Caddy and Micheal will go for a holiday to Australia to visit the Great Barrier Reef. Caddy has it all worked out and Mummy says Yes She Can Of Course You Can Darling Of Course You Must Do That. Saffron said That Will Cost a Few Weeks Housekeeping and Mummy said Yes But We Do Not Need to Worry About That. DADDY WILL PAY. Love, Rose.

She no longer wanted to sit quietly at the end of a story. She wanted to keep stepping into new ones. She wanted to love, to discover, and to feel. She wanted a life that felt like running through a field of wildflowers and then finding a gate at the end that led into an enchanted unknown. And she wanted to do it all with Jacks by her side. (Indigo Exclusive Edition bonus chapter).

By the end of our third year of marriage, I understood that the secret to everlasting love was fear. Fear tethered love in place. Without the terror that came from imagining a life without your beloved, there was no urgency in loving them. I tried to love Indigo as she wished.

Claire’s Summer Survival Playlist Janis Joplin—“Piece of My Heart” We Are The Fallen—“Bury Me Alive” Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers—“Runnin’ Down a Dream” Indigo Girls—“Least Complicated” The Doors—“Light My Fire” Mumford & Sons—“Little Lion Man” Girlyman—“Joyful Sign” Matt Nathanson—“Love Comes Tumbling Down” Natasha’s Ghost—“Falling Up” The Beatles—“While My Guitar Gently Weeps” Nemesea—“Afterlife” Dar Williams—“The Ocean

He caught hold of my hand. "Sydney, please don't do this," he begged. "No matter how confident you feel, no matter how careful you are, things will spiral out of control." "They already have," I said, opening the passenger door. "And I'm going to stop fighting them. Thank you for everything, Marcus. I mean it." "Wait, Sydney," he called. "Just tell me one thing." I glanced back and waited. "Where did this come from? When you called me to tell me you were coming, you said you'd realized it was the smart thing to do. What made you change your mind?" I gave him a smile that I hoped was as dazzling as one of his. "I realized I'm in love." Marcus, startled, looked around as though he expected to see my object d'armour in the car with us. "And you just realized that? Did you have some sort of vision?" "Didn't need to," I said, thinking of Wolfe's ill-fated trip to the Orkneys. "It's always been right in front of me.

It was only when she sat and the hem of her dress lifted that I noticed the blood pooling in her glass slippers, the fine crack along one side. Indigo removed the shoes carefully. Two of her toes were blue. Later, we would discover they were broken. Later, I would cradle her ankles and tell her I loved her and insist on carrying her up the stairs and all throughout the house. I had always found the rejected stepsisters of Cinderella far more captivating than the story’s namesake, and now I knew why. When the shoe did not fit, they cut off their toes, sliced off their heels, squeezed their feet into glass, and lowered their skirts to cover the pain. Perhaps, in the end, the prince made the wrong choice. Such devotion is hard to come by, after all. Look how I will carve myself to fit into your life. Who will not do less? In Indigo’s blue toes and ruined skin, I saw a love letter. Gruesome, yes, but for all that it became in the end, it must be said that it was always true.

The authors we classified as villains, detractors, and bad role models for our children are part of the educational curriculum. Freethinkers and the gutsy ones who pursued love and went against what society preordained are those we admire. The talented that wrote about these adventurous escapades and secret interludes are part of our literary tradition.

In each moment may you see clearly, rest deeply, love sweetly, and live from the truth of your being.

If you want to hear it simpler, then here it is: I love you too. Always.

I will always love you as a person who was part of my life.

You cannot have a great love relationship with an extraordinary person if you behave in a stereotypical way.

A place was made of more than the bricks that built it. Those within were what mattered most. They loved and laughed, talked and dreamed, disagreed on occasion, and grieved.

A true leader breeds love, as well as respect.

The process of creation can be unpredictable and, in some way, similar to love: the brightest waves of inspiration may sometimes occur in wrong timing, wrong places, or even with wrong people.

If you’ve got a paradise bird, don’t try to tear its bright feathers off and treat it like a chicken that you’d cook for dinner; chances are it will painfully peck your forehead in response to your poor intentions.

I don’t think I could quit you if I tried.” “Even if we fight?” “Especially when we fight.” It wasn’t a declaration of love. It wasn’t a lifelong commitment. But that statement moved me so much that tears flooded my eyes.

Why? It doesn’t hurt you or anything. I told you I won’t bother you if you don’t want me to. And if you do, well, I’m all about that. So what’s it matter if I just love you from afar?” I didn’t entirely know. “Because . . . because you can’t!

Caddy came home on Friday evening. Perfectly Harmless Patrick brought her in his battered old car... "Crikey, Caddy!" said Indigo, and he disappeared upstairs to tell Rose. Eve murmured, "Sweet," rather doubtfully. Sarah said, not doubtfully at all, "Horrendous! The worst yet. Rock bottom." "He had a very difficult childhood," said Caddy.... "Who didn't?" asked Saffron unsympathetically. "Gosh, he's ancient, Caddy! Look, he's going bald! All that long trailing stuff is just a disguise!" "If I was going bald," said Sarah, "I would face the fact and have it all shaved off." "Well, I thought Mummy would like him," said Caddy defensively. "...Anyway, I can always take him back." "I think you're going to have to, Caddy darling," said Eve... "Hello, Rose darling! Come in and see what Caddy has brought home to show us!" She escaped, and Rose, who had already heard the news from Indigo, glanced at Patrick and began laughing. "See?" said Sarah. "Rose knows! Absolutely rock bottom! You cannot be serious, Caddy!" "Oh, stop looking at him!" said Caddy, uncomfortably. "I'll find something to cover him up with in a minute!" "How long are you leaving him there for?" asked Rose. "Just until Sunday," said Caddy, trying to sound casual. "Till Sunday!" repeated Saffron. "So is Micheal dumped?" "Of course he isn't!" said Caddy indignantly. "I've never dumped anyone!" "Start!" said Saffron. "Otherwise they just pile up, taking up the sofas...

She had known ever since she felt the miracle of his heart quickening in her, it would end the way it began: her arms gathering his hurt body again and again into her indigo mantle, the shield of her love bringing the world to complete silence.

And right then I learn something very simple and fundamental about love. That it is there or it is not there. That some of our biggest troubles probably come when we try to convince ourselves it is there when it isn’t, or that it isn’t there when it is.

I wasn’t that crazy on spirit when I said you’re my flame in the dark. We chase away the shadows around each other. Our backgrounds don’t matter. What we have is bigger than that. I love you, and beneath all that logic, calculation, and superstition, I know you love me too.

Choosing a color for your paperback book cover feels like entering a mall and seeing a dress you love, just your size, and available in a number of colors – each of which is lovely in its own manner – so you want them all! ...But you must choose only one... Isn't this one of the hardest choices to make? :-)

Kiss me,” I say in a hushed voice. His arm snakes around my back as he draws me near. My breathing gets shallow as I realize what is going to happen. I’m going to let him kiss me. I’m going to kiss him because that’s all I can think about. We’ve shared two very different moments, now I want this. Zach’s eyes melt into pools of indigo. The pinks, oranges, and reds filter around him as the sun sets behind him. Everything is warm and beautiful around us. “Are you sure, darlin’?” “I’ve loved you since I was twelve years old, Zachary Hennington. You were my first kiss, my first love, the first man to touch me. I want you to kiss me, and I need to kiss you.

The night like ink it stains the surfaces it spilt across the words as though some poet bearing veins of indigo they asked you once by day to bind before the night like ink dissolved within them and the words returning to their wordless state become the beats that take all paths leading from the heart returning to it the night dissolved like ink in the veins of any poet

That's not going to work at all,' he muttered. 'Why not?' Evangeline spun around. ... 'Jacks frowned, his lips turning down at the corners. 'I think it will attract too many people.' She laughed. 'That's the entire point of an inn, silly.' His frown deepened. Possibly at being called silly. That made Evangeline smile wider. Then Jacks was taking hold of the ribbon around her waist and tugging her closer to him. She'd noticed before that he couldn't go very long without touching her. Tucking hair behind her ear, toying with the straps of her gown, coming up behind her and pressing kisses to the back of her neck as he wrapped his cool arms around her and whispered things that often made her blush. 'I don't want anyone here but you,' he murmured. Then in one of his lighting-fast moves, he deftly stole the paintbrush from her fingers. 'What are you doing?' she squeaked as Jacks released her waist and swished the brush across the sign, adding two letters right before the word happily. 'There,' he said smugly, 'it's fixed now.' Evangeline scowled, as did the little blue dragon who'd been perched happily on the sign. The greeting on the sign, still swinging from Jacks' handiwork, now read: THE HOLLOW Inn for Travellers, Adventurers and Those searching for UNHappily Ever After. 'No one will come if it says that,' Evangeline said. 'Don't be so pessimistic,' Jacks carelessly dropped the brush back in the bucket. 'People will still come. They'll just be a little cursed if they dare to stay here.' (Indigo Exclusive Edition Alternate Ending).

There is an ancient prophecy within the Book of Oa called the Blackest Night. It warns of the dangers of allowing others to harness the power of the emotional spectrum -- the coalescence of emotions given off by all sentient beings and transformed into power. Cosmic Revelations, verse 6 reads-- "The light of the emotional spectrum will rise! The red throes of Rage, the orange light of Avarice, the yellow fire of Fear, the blue rays of Hope, the indigo glow of Compassion and the violet aura of Love-- and in the center of it all, the green might of Willpower. And as the light rises, so shall an unknown darkness! A darkness with no satiation. A darkness with no life." I know what the coming darkness is. I speak to it. I worship it. I do as it tells me to do. Today, it demands that I open the Book of the Black. And take part in the birth of the first Black Lantern.

Many of us humans have a hard time with understanding one simple truth: the surest way to get love is to start giving love to others. Often, when we desperately need some companionship, understanding and warmth from those who are around us, we chose to blame, shout, criticize, accuse, insult and set ultimatums. But in reply, we only encounter with cold walls of estrangement which was diligently built by our own efforts, farcical walls and fences.

Upon Evangeline and Jacks's initial return to the inn, the Hollow had actually been quite frosty. Doors often slammed shut. Windows stuck. Wardrobes refused to open. Faucets yielded only icy water. 'I think it's cross with us,' Jacks had said. 'Give it a few days. It will warm up.' The walls had rattled then. 'If it doesn't, we'll leave,' Jacks added, tossing a dart up in the air as he spoke. 'We can build a new inn- a better one.' Jacks caught his dart, then threw it, purposefully missing the board and sinking the dart's sharp tip into the wall instead. Doors stopped slamming after that. Windows no longer stuck, and wardrobes were more eager to open. As the days went on, the Hollow became friendlier and friendlier. Fresh flowers started to appear on tables. Evangeline found new logs in the fireplaces every morning at dawn, and whenever she drew a bath, the water was always perfectly warm. The Hollow wanted them to stay. (Indigo Exclusive Edition Alternate Ending).

Letters blend to give rise to words  Like colors pave way for the birth of million shades! Evanescence reminisces sepia! Memory takes back to black and white! Music pops hot pink! Dance rocks wine red! Marvelous is miraculous as the indigo! Magnificent is magnanimous like Russian red! Splendid is classy like arctic blue! Resplendent inspires like  strawberry pink! Flamboyance is flowery like fuchsia! Flawless is perfect like flamingo! Extraordinary stands out like lime yellow! Peculiar is unique like cyan! Pleasant pleases like periwinkle! Soothing soothes like lemonade! Opulent glitters gold! Spectacular shimmers silver! Nice is as mild as dulce de leche! Attractive dazzles onyx! Powerful is headstrong like tangerine! Puissance stupefies like scarlet red! Mellifluence is dissolving, like lavender! Sonorous sounds magenta! Lovely cutely blushes! Sweet is peachy! Richness is wealthy like lush green! Poverty is brown as in flower wilt! Candid is frank as candy red! Altruism is selfless like parmesan! But, BEAUTY IS IRIDESCENT! Which

Siesta is sweet when the light is gold, and when the vivid, young face on the pillow looks into yours, beside her, inches away, and smiles the woman-smile older than time, her exhalations warm against your mouth, as with slow fingers she traces your brows, lips, and the shape of cheek and jaw. There is nothing more es-stock. It has all been unfastened, all turned loose, with a guile that was so sweetly planned it could not be denied, even had there been any thought of denying it. Elena, you are the Mexican afternoons forever.

I looked up to see the sun struggling behind a gray mass of snow clouds. I could relate. And then a beam of sunlight found a way through. A sign? Maybe. But what was this? I gasped. The bakery esters had refracted into visible bands of flavor. Red raspberry, orange, and the yellow of lemon and butter. Pistachio, lime, and mint green. The deepest indigo of a fresh blueberry The violet that blooms when crushed blackberries blend into buttercream. The Roy G. Biv that a baker loves. And then the darkness: chocolate, spice, coffee, and burnt-sugar caramel.

Normally, we are supposed to say farewell to the page even as we look, to see past the cut of the type, hear beyond the shape of the sound, feel more than the heft of the book, to hear the bird sing whose name has been invoked, and think of love being made through the length of the night if the bird's name is nightingale; but when the book itself has the beauty of the bird, and the words do their own singing; when the token is treated as if it, not some divine intention, was holy and had power; when the bird itself is figured in the margins as though that whiteness were a moon-bleached bough and the nearby type the leaves it trembles; and when indigo turbans or vermilion feathers are, with jasmines, pictured so perfectly that touch falls in love with the finger, eyes light, and nostrils flare; when illustrations refuse to illustrate but instead suggest the inside of the reader's head, where a consciousness is being constructed; then the nature of the simple sign is being vigorously denied, and the scene or line or brief rendition is being treated like a thing itself, returning the attention to its qualities and composition. -- From "The Book As a Container of Consciousness

Christ, I’m tired. I need sleep. I need peace. I need for my balls to not be so blue they’re practically purple. As purple as Sarah Von Titebottum’s— My mind comes to a screeching halt with the unexpected thought. And the image that accompanies it—the odd, blushing lass with her glasses and her books and very tight bottom. Sarah’s not a contestant on the show, so I’m willing to bet both my indigo balls that there’s not a camera in her room. And, I can’t believe I’m fucking thinking this, but, even better—none of the other girls will know where to find me—including Elizabeth. I let the cameras noisily track me to the lavatory, but then, like an elite operative of the Secret Intelligence Service, I plaster myself to the wall beneath their range and slide my way out the door. Less than five minutes later, I’m in my sleeping pants and a white T-shirt, barefoot with my guitar in hand, knocking on Sarah’s bedroom door. I checked the map Vanessa gave me earlier. Her room is on the third floor, in the corner of the east wing, removed from the main part of the castle. The door opens just a crack and dark brown eyes peer out. “Sanctuary,” I plead. Her brow crinkles and the door opens just a bit wider. “I beg your pardon?” “I haven’t slept in almost forty-eight hours. My best friend’s girlfriend is trying to praying-mantis me and the sound of the cameras following me around my room is literally driving me mad. I’m asking you to take me in.” And she blushes. Great. “You want to sleep in here? With me?” I scoff. “No, not with you—just in your room, love.” I don’t think about how callous the words sound—insulting—until they’re out of my mouth. Could I be any more of a dick? Thankfully, Sarah doesn’t look offended. “Why here?” she asks. “Back in the day, the religious orders used to give sanctuary to anyone who asked. And since you dress like a nun, it seemed like the logical choice.” I don’t know why I said that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Somebody just fucking shoot me and be done with it. Sarah’s lips tighten, her head tilts, and her eyes take on a dangerous glint. I think Scooby-Doo put it best when he said, Ruh-roh. “Let me make sure I’ve got this right—you need my help?” “Correct.” “You need shelter, protection, sanctuary that only I can give?” “Yes.” “And you think teasing me about my clothes is a wise strategy?” I hold up my palms. “I never said I was wise. Exhausted, defenseless, and desperate.” I pout . . . but in a manly kind of way. “Pity me.” A smile tugs at her lips. And that’s when I know she’s done for. With a sigh, she opens the door wide. “Well, it is your castle. Come in.” Huh. She’s right—it is my castle. I really need to start remembering that

He saw then that there was a lens at one end, disguised as a dewdrop in the throat of an asphodel. Gently he took the egg in his hands, closed one eye, and looked. The light of the interior was not, as he had half expected, gold tinted, but brilliantly white, deriving from some concealed source. A world surely meant for Earth shone within, as though seen from below the orbit of the moon—indigo sea and emerald land. Rivers brown and clear as tea ran down long plains. His mother said, “Isn’t it pretty?” Night hung at the corners in funereal purple, and sent long shadows like cold and lovely arms to caress the day; and while he watched and it fell, long-necked birds of so dark a pink that they were nearly red trailed stilt legs across the sky, their wings making crosses.

Sitting out on the canoe tonight, watching the indigo waters of the South China Sea, I noticed the waxing moon calculating that maybe by the time it is full we’ll be back in the U.S. of A. I shed a few tears for Michael again. I was hoping his ghost would materialize just to let me know there actually is a spiritual realm but no such luck. It was just me, alone. It’s so bizarre. He was here and now… he’s gone. That’s the way it is. We are… and then, we are no more. Two or three loved ones keep our memory alive… and then, they are no more. And we all fade into that massive vapor cloud of forgotten souls. Why were we even here in the first place? I began to stand up. That’s when I saw it. It entered the night sky from the west and streaked to the east, forming a brilliant but thin arc of flame. A shooting star. A meteorite. Was that my confirmation? I would like to think so.

She remembers blood. A fine mist which goes deep into her lungs, over her skin and through the air. She remembers a desert at dusk. The sky indigo blue and the fire bright, so bright that she can see everything. Near the fire, in the night, all she knows is chaos wrapped in crimson. All is death and nightmare with a single solitary dancer who smiles cruelly as he moves. He is power and darkness. He is man and beast, silver coin eyes and that face, those claws and the agony of loss. Time stretches wide; seconds like vast eons swallow up her world. Vince is dead, his mother, his brother and her small son ripped apart and gushing as he/it moves. She is screaming, a howl of agony beyond words, primal and wordless. Still he moves, faster than air, faster than she could ever be. Blood drips from her face as she grunts, running with her lungs on fire and her last remaining hope wrapped in her arms.

On Floriography This poem explores the ancient practice of floriography, the coded language of flowers, as a way to express human love through the use of fragrance, colors, and vivid symbolism. By elucidating the phenomenon of florescence alongside the art of floral arrangement, the poem encourages readers to extract poetry and beauty out of a dystopic world. If you often find yourself at a loss for words or don’t know what to say to those you love, just extract poetry out of poverty, this dystopia of civilization rendered fragrant, blossoming onto star-blue fields of loosestrife, heady spools of spike lavender, of edible clover beckoning to say without bruising a jot of dog’s tooth violet, a nib of larkspur notes, or the day’s perfumed reports of indigo in the gloaming— what to say to those whom you love in this world? Use floriography, or as the flower-sellers put it, Say it with flowers. —Indigo, larkspur, star-blue, my dear.

The stars in their courses fought against her! External opposition one could cut through or get round; but this deep spiritual unease in the loved one’s soul, that — ah! that — one could not reach; and the unreachable could not be pushed away, cut through, or circumvented. She looked up at the stars that fought against her. Did the ancients really believe that, or was it, with them, as with her, just a manner of speaking? Did those bright wheeling jewels on the indigo velvet of all space really concern themselves with little men, the lives and loves of human insects, who, born from an embrace, met and clung and died and became dust? Those candescent worlds, circled by little offsplit planets — were their names taken in vain, or were they really in their motions and their relative positions the writing on the wall for men to read? No! That was only human self-importance! To his small wheel man bound the Universe. Swing low, sweet chariots! But they didn’t! Man swung with them — in space. . . . .

Auric Colors and Their Meanings. Ÿ Black: represents hatred, malice, revenge, and similar feelings. Ÿ Gray: of a bright shade, represents selfishness. Ÿ Gray: of a peculiar shade (almost that of a corpse) , represents fear and terror. Ÿ Gray: of a dark shade, represents depression and melancholy. Ÿ Green: of a dirty shade, represents jealousy. If much anger is mingled with the jealousy, it will appear as red flashes on the green background. Ÿ Green: of almost a slate color shade, represents low deceit. Ÿ Green: of a peculiar bright shade, represents tolerance to the opinions and beliefs of others, easy adjustment to changing conditions, adaptability, tact, politeness, worldly wisdom, etc., and qualities which some might possibly consider "refined deceit." Ÿ Red: of a shade resembling the dull flame when it bursts out of a burning building, mingled with the smoke, represents sensuality and the animal passions. Ÿ Red: seen in the shape of bright red flashes resembling the lightning flash in shape, indicates anger. These are usually shown on a black background in the case of anger arising from hatred or malice, but in cases of anger arising from jealousy they appear on a greenish background. Anger arising from indignation or defense of a supposed "right," lacks these backgrounds, and usually shows as red flashes independent of a background. Ÿ Blue: of a dark shade, represents religious thought, emotion, and feeling. This color, however, varies in clearness according to the degree of unselfishness manifest in the religious conception. The shades and degrees of clearness vary from a dull indigo to Ÿ Crimson: represents love, varying in shade according to the character of the passion. A gross sensual love will be a dull and heavy crimson, while one mixed with higher feelings will appear in lighter and more pleasing shades. A very high form of love shows a color almost approaching a beautiful rose color. Ÿ Brown: of a reddish tinge, represents avarice and greed. Ÿ Orange: of a bright shade, represents pride and ambition. Ÿ Yellow: in its various shades, represents intellectual power. If the intellect contents itself with things of a low order, the shade is a dark, dull yellow; and as the field of the intellect rises to higher levels, the color grows brighter and clearer, a beautiful golden yellow betokening great intellectual attainment, broad and brilliant reasoning, etc. a beautiful rich violet, the latter representing the highest religious feeling. § Light Blue: of a peculiarly clear and luminous shade, represents spirituality. Some of the higher degrees of spirituality observed in ordinary mankind show themselves in this shade of blue filled with luminous bright points, sparkling and twinkling like stars on a clear winter night.

Last Night My Soul Cried O Exalted Sphere Of Heaven Last night my soul cried, “O exalted sphere of Heaven, you hang indeed inverted, with flames in your belly. “Without sin and crime, eternally revolving upon your body in its complaining is the indigo of mourning; “Now happy, now unhappy, like Abraham in the fire; at once king and beggar like Ebrahim-e Adham. “In your form you are terrifying, yet your state is full of anguish: you turn round like a millstone and writhe like a snake.” Heaven the blessed replied, “How should I not fear that one who makes the Paradise of the world as Hell? “In his hand earth is as wax, he makes it Zangi and Rumi , he makes it falcon and owl, he makes it sugar and poison. “He is hidden, friend, and has set us forth thus patent so that he may become concealed. “How should the ocean of the world be concealed under straws? The straws have been set adancing, the waves tumbling up and down’ “Your body is like the land floating on the waters of the soul; your soul is veiled in the body alike in wedding feast or sorrow. “In the veil you are a new bride, hot-tempered and obstinate; he is railing sweetly at the good and the bad of the world. “Through him the earth is a green meadow, the heavens are unresting; on every side through him a fortunate one pardoned and preserved. “Reason a seeker of certainty through him, patience a seeker of help through him, love seeing the unseen through him, earth taking the form of Adam through him. “Air seeking and searching, water hand-washing, we Messiah-like speaking, earth Mary-like silent. “Behold the sea with its billows circling round the earthy ship; behold Kaabas and Meccas at the bottom of this well of Zamzam!” The king says, “Be silent, do not cast yourself into the well, for you do not know how to make a bucket and a rope out of my withered stumps.

Mazel Amsel- I have the obsession of destroying Nevaeh, she is so perfect, I cannot stand it! My girls have to be on top, and I am never going to let her be anything, I will make sure of it! That is what I have been doing for years. Nevaeh that no good little pussy licker; even if she knows it is me, she will not be able to ‘Prove it.’ I am just that well-liked by everyone, I am so powerful that no one will ever defeat me. I am the master manipulator, Nevaeh- yes, she is the tower! She is about for a hundred pounds, unnatural blond hair, lime green glowing eyes, and a voice that bellows! To me, she looks like a bulldog in the face, yet evil wicked witch-like also, yet to everyone else she blends in, to the others she looks as they do, just a normal mom, with normal kids. Yet I think she is crumbling, I think some people are seeing through her veil, because of what happened recently. Mazel- I have everyone wrapped around my little finger. Likewise, if they do not bow down to me, I will make their life a living hell. That is the way; I have to have it, all the time for Nevaeh! I have to know what she is doing at all times. I have to hack into her social networking and get her pears to think she is a ‘Creep’ and ‘Stocker’ to young girls. So, she has no friends at all. So, my girls can be the supreme of this area, so that they can do as they please, without anyone stopping them from being the best, no matter what, and from getting what they want, and what I want for them. Besides, foremost I wanted to make sure that she would never date anyone. So, I came up with the story of telling everyone that she was into girls and that she is just plain crazy. I should know my eyes are on her always. I did not want to see her go to proms; I did not want to see her succeed. I did not want her to be loved. I would like to see her die, and not walk away from it. I have dreamed of ways to kill her repeatedly. Like this one, I would like to see her be impaled on a sharp wooden stick, starting through her butt hole, and then slowly have gravity have it go up into her delicious miniature body until it hits her brain, and she screams out my girl’s names, as we get what we need. I would love to see a Nevaeh- kabob! I would love to see her stoned out in the open with rocks! I would love to see my girls bite their nipples off with their teeth! I want to see my girl claw her up to head to toe. I hunger to see them scratch her sweet blue eyes that are so heavenly right out of her face! I want to see her gush that cobalt blood like a waterfall from her naked sliced-up body. Yes, I want us to torture her any way we can until she says yes to us. We are going to get at anything of hers we can until she comes with us! As we would, all dance around her, as we would light her up, cheerfully for the last time. How I would love to bleach and fry that perfect hair with chemicals. I and we all in our family want to fuck her up and down anyways we can! Mwah Ha, ha! Yes, Beforehand, we all would kiss, touch, lick, and stick her, and do what we want to get the life from her by sucking away. We would eat her soul away as it would come down from the heavens then through her body, and into ours, as we would drink it out, the way we do. Yes, yes, hell- yes, I can see it now! Yes, I want her soul! Besides, anything or everything I can get out of her to add to my shrine. We even have a voodoo doll of her with pins in it. I have a few things of hers like her hymen-damaged red blood tarnished pink polka-dotted gym underwear, and her indigo pantiliner she had on. That my girl ripped off of her in school, the more things we have the more we can control her mind, but I want more!

Color Qualities red passion, vitality, courage orange warmth, energy, activity, drive, confidence yellow creativity, optimism, enthusiasm green healing, growth, fertility, prosperity light blue purity, serenity, mental clarity, compassion royal blue loyalty, insight, inspiration, independence indigo intuition, focus, stability purple wisdom, spirituality, power white purity, wholeness, protection black power, the unconscious, banishing, wisdom pink love, friendship, affection, joy, self-esteem brown grounding, permanence,

My roses still bloom, for I will not let them fade, but the weeping willows have choked out the cherry trees, and all the chrysanthemums and snapdragons have become love-lies-bleeding and anemones and hydrangeas of the deepest indigo blue. You are missed, my only violet.

I want to take our museum bodies and turn them into art galleries to show us how lovely we are. I want to dust off the fingerprints of old lovers, take down the signs that name our bodies ancient history, turn every wounded object inside us into something that can still be looked at and seen as beautiful, not an object from an era we are glad we are not living through any more. I want us to love ourselves like we love art. I want whole gallery walls dedicated to our soft hearts, vermilion and crimson and indigo across canvas after canvas framed in gold. I want sculptures made from the tears we cried over losing everything. I want our skins to be a celebration: The texture is what makes this art, all these lines and blemishes and spots that show the artist's love. I don't want us to look at ourselves as forgotten things we hate any more. I want us to look at ourselves and see art.

Being with Jacks was strange in the same delightful way it's strange to experience a warm day in the middle of winter or to find a surprise meteor shower upon looking up at the sky. (Indigo Exclusive Edition Alternate Ending).

First, I don’t have a list.” Another finger. “Second, if I did have a list, I could find someone a hell of lot less frustrating to add to it.” For the third finger, he leaned toward me. “And finally, I know that you know you’re no conquest, so don’t act like you seriously think that. You and I have been through too much together. We’re too close, too connected. I wasn’t that crazy on spirit when I said you’re my flame in the dark. We chase away the shadows around each other. Our backgrounds don’t matter. What we have is bigger than that. I love you, and beneath all that logic, calculation, and superstition, I know you love me too. Running away to Mexico and fleeing all your problems isn’t going to change that. You’re just going to end up scared and confused.

Even wolf-spirits love belly rubs.

Sally, I do love you more and more. And this is me talking––Noah––not the Indigo Girls, though I bet the Indigo Girls would love you, too, if they knew you.

My grandmother had loved chickens, and her collection of rooster and hen statues sat proudly above the kitchen cabinets.

This would be a soul tie they would never be able to break even if they tried to run from it, their souls would find each other again and never let go.

Because I need to feel something. Even if it's not as intense as I want it to be, it's still something…

You haven’t heard baby? I’m an urban legend.

So, Baby, I’ll be seeing you soon. Eventually, you’ll break down and talk to me. Next time keep the dramatics to a two.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, hoping to remember his scent of freshly mown hay, bay rum, and hard work. He caressed the back of her neck. “It won’t be long,” he comforted her. They were empty words, which didn’t have a true, sure ring to them but sparked hope all the same. “Take care of our little one,” he whispered in her ear. Robin took a deep breath, steeling herself to be strong. She tipped up her head. “I will.” Willis crushed a kiss to her lips. Robin didn’t care what any of them thought. The train whistle blew, and Willis released her. A chill breeze blew over the platform and made Robin tug her indigo-blue, wool sweater tighter around her expanding middle.

Why do you think I've been trying my damnedest to get you pregnant? Baby, I've been hoping that I'd make a baby in you. I wanted a guarantee that you wouldn't walk out on me.

Why do you think I've been trying my damnedest to get you pregnant? Baby, I've been hoping that I'd make a baby in you. I wanted a guarantee that you wouldn't walk out on me.

Have my baby? Yes, yes. When it comes, can I taste your milk?

poured him more mead then moved to the ambassador, a noble-born Mevian by the name of Rukard. Though I felt his eyes on me, I refused to look at him as I refilled his cup. He was about Papa’s age, some gray at his temples, his long brown hair tied back in a tail. His fancy Mevian silk garb threaded with silver embroidery signified his importance. While I stood next to him, he flared his indigo wings as if he was trying to impress me. The moon fae were the only light fae who had beautiful, iridescent wings, ones that my true father would’ve had. The ambassador’s wings didn’t impress me, nor did his lecherous stare. His two guardsmen both wore the blue and silver armor of Mevia. They were bulkier than the ambassador, of course, and their wings were a deep shade of blue. I

They’d love Griffin.

I’m not very good at—” “Indigo.” Ariel kissed him. “You do say it, every time we’re together, every time you make love to me. You say it with your body, with your touch, with your kiss. I don’t need your words. I just need for you to hold me.” So he did.

Evening brings the people to their windows, balconies, and doorways. Evening fills the streets with strolling crowds. Evening is an indigo tent for the circus of the city, and families bring children to the entertainments that inspire every corner and crossroad. And evening is a chaperone for young lovers: the last hour of light before the night comes to steal the innocence from their slow promenades. There’s no time, in the day or night, when there are more people on the streets of Bombay than there are in the evening, and no light loves the human face quite so much as the evening light in my Mumbai.

She’s going to leave me,’ Max says. ‘She doesn’t love me any more. You

You’re better off without him. Look at you all, you can breathe here – you’re not all creeping around scared to make a noise, say the wrong thing.’ ‘I know,’ Mum sobs. ‘It’s just …’ Just what?’ Jane wants to know. Mum pushes a curtain of fair hair back from her tear-stained face and smiles sadly. ‘Oh, Jane,’ she says. ‘I know you’re right, I know. It’s just that – well, I still love him. I can’t help it.

When everyone had been dispatched, he turned to Loretta, one dark eyebrow cocked, his indigo eyes twinkling with laughter. “One wife and only one wife, forever with no horizon?” Loretta’s gaze chased off, and her cheeks went scarlet. Clasping her hands behind her, she rocked back on her heels, then forward onto her toes, pursing her lips. “I told you, Hunter, I refuse to play second fiddle.” He smiled--a slow, dangerous smile that made her nerves leap. His heated gaze drifted slowly down the length of her. He grasped her arm and led her toward his lodge. “Now you will show this Comanche how good you play number one fiddle, yes?” “I--” Loretta’s mouth went as dry as dust as she tripped along beside him, her arm vised in his grip. “Surely you don’t mean right now.” Her startled gaze focused on the lodge door. “It’s not even dark yet. People are still awake. You haven’t eaten. There’s no fire built. We can’t just--” He lifted the door flap and drew her into the dark lodge. “Blue Eyes, I have no hunger for food,” he said huskily. “But I will make a fire if you wish for one.” Any delay, no matter how short, appealed to Loretta. “Oh, yes, it’s sort of chilly, don’t you think?” It was a particularly muggy evening, the kind that made clothing stick to the skin, but that hardly seemed important. “Yes, a fire would be lovely.” He left her standing alone in the shadows to haul in some wood, which he quickly arranged in the firepit. Moments later golden flames lit the room, the light dancing and flickering on the tan walls. Remaining crouched by the flames, he tipped his head back and gave her a lazy perusal, his eyes touching on her dress, eyebrows lifting in a silent question. “Do you hunger for food?” he asked her softly.

I had a need to head outdoors, to smell that fresh wind over the willow trees, rich in cold, coloring all my world. Blue. Sweet, dark blue. I would love how it darkened my world to indigo no closer than noon and I would bury myself in my blankets, watching the sky or the stars, sometimes both, and within each other, like how we might have been. Nothing to commiserate that life. I kissed nobody. I read my books and dreamed of painless death. Every morning had a soft, relaxed light, weighed only by the density of my understanding of it.

Trust. It was easier said than done. For a moment Loretta struggled, unable to make up her mind. Chase Kelly Wolf. Indigo Nicole Wolf. Her child had the right to know his or her father. And the chance would be lost unless she found some courage. Did she want to spend her life peering into her looking glass, as Aunt Rachel had, searching for herself, berating herself? Loretta pulled her arm from Hunter’s grasp. If she was going, she had to hurry before Hunter gave up and left. She shouldered her way through the men, ignoring the insults they hurled after her. Amy appeared out of the darkness. From the look on her face, Loretta knew she had overheard. Loretta broke stride, then threw her arms wide to catch her little cousin in a fierce hug. “I love you, Amelia Rose. Don’t ever forget that.” Amy’s shoulders shook with sobs. “I won’t. I’ll miss you, Loretta. A powerful lot.” Loretta hugged her more tightly. “Maybe one day we’ll be together again. You’ve got to hold my baby!” “Maybe after Swift Antelope comes for me.” Amy gulped and pulled away. “You’ll tell him, won’t ya? That I ain’t forgot my promises to him? That I’ll be waitin’ for him?” “I’ll tell him.” “You’d best go.” Amy rubbed her cheek with her fist. “Go on! Before Hunter leaves!” Loretta threw a regretful glance toward the buckboard. “Tell Aunt Rachel that--” “She knows, but I’ll tell her anyhow.” Loretta touched her hand to Amy’s cheek, trying to smile but too frightened to manage. “Good-bye.” “Good-bye, Loretta Jane.Good-bye!” The word followed Loretta into the darkness. Good-bye. As she left the wagons far behind, she felt more alone than she ever had in her life. Moonlight bathed the flats. Loretta turned in a slow circle but saw no one. If Hunter was out here, why didn’t he show himself?

Mea, go. Until your loyalty to me is greater than your hatred.” “I have stepped between you and enemy rifles!” “And now you make war on my woman. Do not test me again, cousin.” The muscles across Red Buffalo’s back knotted and twitched. He stood there a moment, quivering with rage, then spun and spat in Loretta’s direction, his black eyes livid with hatred. “Your woman,” he sneered. “She sickens my gut. You forget your wife who died for a yellow-hair?” With that, he stormed out. A brittle silence settled over the lodge. A tremor shook Loretta as the aftershock set in. The snake had been planted? She stared at Hunter; he stared at the doorway. When at last he looked at her, his eyes churned darkly with emotion. He returned to his pallet and sat down, legs crossed at the ankles in front of him. With a sigh, he reclaimed his flint and bone punch, bending over the flat rock he used as a base for his work. “You will sleep. I will watch.” The stony mask of anger that hooded his face did a poor job of concealing his pain. He loved his cousin, yet he had defended her against him. Loretta lay down, but sleep was beyond her. Seconds dragged by, mounting into minutes, and still the silence rang out, broken only by the report of bone against flint. Loretta swallowed. “Hunter?” His indigo gaze met hers. “Thank you. For--defending me.” Almost imperfectibly, he inclined his head. “Sleep, Blue Eyes. It is well.” “I--I’m sorry for causing a rift--a big fight--between you. I truly am sorry.” Afraid he might not understand, she placed a hand on her chest. “My heart is on the ground.” His mouth thinned, and he glanced outside. “Let your heart be glad again. The hatred came upon him long ago.” Something deep within Loretta knotted, twisted. She hugged her middle and tried desperately not to think, to deny the reality she could not accept, that Hunter, the legendary killer, was a man who thought, and felt, and loved--just like any other. He even mourned a dead wife. He was also a man true to his word. He had promised to defend her, and he had.

She stared at Hunter; he stared at the doorway. When at last he looked at her, his eyes churned darkly with emotion. He returned to his pallet and sat down, legs crossed at the ankles in front of him. With a sigh, he reclaimed his flint and bone punch, bending over the flat rock he used as a base for his work. “You will sleep. I will watch.” The stony mask of anger that hooded his face did a poor job of concealing his pain. He loved his cousin, yet he had defended her against him. Loretta lay down, but sleep was beyond her. Seconds dragged by, mounting into minutes, and still the silence rang out, broken only by the report of bone against flint. Loretta swallowed. “Hunter?” His indigo gaze met hers. “Thank you. For--defending me.” Almost imperfectibly, he inclined his head. “Sleep, Blue Eyes. It is well.

As Red Buffalo disappeared into the darkness, Hunter’s hand, which was riding Loretta’s thickened waist, tightened. He glanced down, his brows lifting in question. With a wondrous expression on his face, he placed his other palm on her slightly swollen abdomen. “Blue Eyes, what is this?” Loretta looked up at him through tears. “Our child, Hunter.” His warm fingers flexed and curled protectively. A slow smile spread across his mouth. “A child…” The words were a reverent whisper. “Our child.” Loretta placed her hand over his, so filled with love for him that she felt she might die of it. The future was filled with uncertainty. The way ahead might be fraught with danger. And they would be completely alone. Two people, against a world of hostility. None of that really frightened her, though. Theirs was no ordinary love, and she knew the course of their lives would have a far greater purpose than that of simply being together. They would find their way west, just as the prophecy had foretold. She knew they would. The Comanche nation was doomed. There was no stopping the tide of white settlers that washed over their land. An entire race of people would eventually be conquered and all but destroyed. She and Hunter were like a seed floating on the wind. Somehow, somewhere, they would find a fertile place, where they could put down roots and grow strong. Through them, the People would live on. The gods had sent her and Hunter a sign to help them believe, to give them faith, and she no longer had a single doubt that all the words of Hunter’s song would somehow come to pass. Within her grew a child, both tosi tivo and Comanche, the child of the great warrior with indigo eyes and his honey-haired maiden. A child who brought new hope for the People and tomorrow.

How about naming a boy after his papa and his uncle Warrior?” Rachel asked. “Chase Kelly. Chase means hunter, Kelly means warrior.” Loretta lowered her sewing to her lap, her gaze dreamy. “Chase Kelly--Chase Kelly. It has a nice ring, doesn’t it?” “Be nicer with a proper surname,” Rachel commented. “Wolf!” Amy cried. “That’s as close to a last name for Hunter as you’ll get.” “Chase Kelly Wolf.” Loretta rolled the name off her tongue a few times, warming to it. “I like it. What do you think, Aunt Rachel? Wolf as a surname isn’t too strange, is it?” “Sounds like a wonderful name to me. And if Hunter comes back someday, he can’t complain too much. Hunter Warrior is a sight better than Leaky Drawers.” “Running Water,” Loretta corrected. “Whatever.” Rachel smiled. “For a girl, how about Nicole? It means a girl who’s victorious for her people.” “Oh, I like that,” Loretta whispered. “Hunter would love that.” Rachel smiled. “Nicole Wolf. If she has her daddy’s eyes, Indigo would go perfect with it. Nicole Indigo Wolf.” “Doesn’t sound right,” Amy argued. “Indigo Nicole Wolf! That, I like.” “Indigo Nicole.” Tears burned behind Loretta’s eyelids. A girl victorious for her people. “Yes, that’s beautiful, for both worlds.

For a girl, how about Nicole? It means a girl who’s victorious for her people.” “Oh, I like that,” Loretta whispered. “Hunter would love that.” Rachel smiled. “Nicole Wolf. If she has her daddy’s eyes, Indigo would go perfect with it. Nicole Indigo Wolf.” “Doesn’t sound right,” Amy argued. “Indigo Nicole Wolf! That, I like.” “Indigo Nicole.” Tears burned behind Loretta’s eyelids. A girl victorious for her people. “Yes, that’s beautiful, for both worlds.” “Your own name isn’t half-bad. Bet you don’t know what Loretta means.” Rachel folded the dough over, then glanced up with a teasing grin. “Your momma and me picked it, mainly for the meaning.” “It’s a variation of Laura, isn’t it? Laurel wreath or something?” “That’s the common meaning. But in your ma’s name book, there was another.” “Well? Give over.” Loretta waited, watching her aunt. “What’s it mean? Flat-chested and scrawny?” Rachel threw back her head and chuckled. “Flat-chested and scrawny? Loretta Jane, I swear, no one can say you have too high an opinion of yourself. It means little wise one.” The color washed from Loretta’s face, and she planted her feet on the floor to stop the chair from rocking. “It means what?” “Little wise one.” Rachel’s smile faded. “You feelin’ peaked? What’s wrong?” Loretta set her sewing aside and pushed to her feet. “Nothing, Aunt Rachel. N-nothing.” Glancing dazedly around the room, Loretta pressed the back of her wrist to her temple, a feeling of unreality surrounding her. “I, um, think I’ll get a breath of air.” After hurrying from the house, Loretta struck off across the yard to lean on the fence, her favorite spot because it afforded her a view of the rise. Little wise one. Still numb with shock, she stared off into the distance, remembering the night Hunter had recited his song to her. The People will call her the Little Wise One…

I realized I’m in love.

This is a lot better than loving from afar,” I told him.

I’ll just love you whether you want me to or not.

I’m going to just go on loving you, even if it’s hopeless.

Well, you can think what you want, so long as you remember—no matter how ordinary things seem between us—I’m still here, still in love with you, and care about you more than any other guy, evil or otherwise, ever will.

imagined how great it would feel to jump into the water to cool off. Sure, she could just go inside the main cabin and freeze in the air conditioning. But

There were even sand sharks, she’d read, so maybe she’d swim close to shore. But after living in Ohio

The flutter of the leaves brought on your trance. Hundreds of thousands of sycamore leaves all obeying the same wind, their wide green palms opening then tightening, letting in and keeping out the light, changing the prospect from outdoor to indoor, forever altering. It was the most lonesome hour just before dusk with all the colors going, all the streamers , the pinks and reds, and violets and indigos and blues, the lovely laneways of vanquishing light.

The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real … for a moment at least … that long magic moment before we wake. Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true? We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La. They can keep their heaven. When I die, I’d sooner go to middle Earth.

I silently implored: May the memory of this moment, here, the glowing impression of the two of us facing each other in this warm, bright place, drinking lovely hot tea, help save him, even a little bit. Words, too explicit, always cast a shadow over that faint glow. Outside, night had come. The indigo-colored air was growing colder.

But I knew my hair was healthy and a pretty color, dark brown shot with red in certain lights. I'd always liked my eyes, which were large and framed by naturally long lashes, and if I used to wish they were violet instead of brown, I was mostly over it now. That had been a side effect of reading too many romance novels, I knew, where the heroine's eyes were always sparkling emerald or velvety indigo.

I hoped that the love helped with his pain.

I have dreamed of ways to kill her repeatedly. Like this one, I would like to see her be impaled on a sharp wooden stick, starting through her butt hole, and then slowly have gravity have it go up into her delicious miniature body until it hits her brain, and she screams out my girl’s names, as we get what we need. I would love to see a Nevaeh- kabob! I would love to see her stoned out in the open with rocks! I would love to see my girls bite their nipples off with their teeth! I want to see my girl claw her up to head to toe. I hunger to see them scratch her sweet blue eyes that are so heavenly right out of her face! I want to see her gush that cobalt blood like a waterfall from her naked sliced-up body. Yes, I want us to torture her any way we can until she says yes to us. We are going to get at anything of hers we can until she comes with us! As we would, all dance around her, as we would light her up, cheerfully for the last time. How I would love to bleach and fry that perfect hair with chemicals. I and we all in our family want to fuck her up and down anyways we can! Mwah Ha, ha! Yes, Beforehand, we all would kiss, touch, lick, and stick her, and do what we want to get the life from her by sucking away. We would eat her soul away as it would come down from the heavens then through her body, and into ours, as we would drink it out, the way we do. Yes, yes, hell- yes, I can see it now! Yes, I want her soul! Besides, anything or everything I can get out of her to add to my shrine. We even have a voodoo doll of her with pins in it. I have a few things of hers like her hymen-damaged red blood tarnished pink polka-dotted gym underwear, and her indigo pantiliner she had on. That my girl ripped off of her in school, the more things we have the more we can control her mind, but I want more! We want more! We want and need it all! Just like the one girl Lily; I have her one hair ribbon; from Nevaeh, I have something far more personal than her underwear, and it is on display too, and that was her virginity! Who knows that she was a little cock sucker too? How do I have it, you ask? Tee- hee- Will I tell you- how! Now come to think of it, back then my idea was to drive her insane so that she will do it to herself… like she did; by not having anyone to confide in, I wanted that to kill her slowly, that was the plan. Just like I was the arranger of her first sexual partner. I told him to pound the shit out of her, and pop her cherry so hard and fast, that the next day she could not even walk; plus, bleed for many days; which is how I got what is on display… I did this so that it would take everything away from her. If my girls do not have it, then neither does she. I made the schooling system think that she has major problems, from kindergarten up through high school. I will do whatever it takes to have her fall! For the reason that I have to be triumphant! It was a promise that I made to her mother. If I cannot have her mind, body, and soul, no one can. Yeah, now I did not mind putting a bullet in her father's head, so I would have loved to put one on hers also. Yes, I should have gotten to her way back then, when she was just sitting in her playpens so defenseless. Then again, I thought what the hell… it would be better to torture her, and make everything in her life a living hell for her! Why should I play god, when I can send the devil to her bed every night! Let’s not forget to mention everybody showed up at her father's house right after the murder that took place. So, I did not have enough time to complete the job. Oh yes, her mother is a very good friend of mine, and I wanted to make sure that Nevaeh would have nothing. Nothing but pain, misery, and torture from me and my girls. Yes, without her ever knowing, that I was the one causing all the trouble in her life.

I have dreamed of ways to kill her repeatedly. Like this one, I would like to see her be impaled on a sharp wooden stick, starting through her butt hole, and then slowly have gravity have it go up into her delicious miniature body until it hits her brain, and she screams out my girl’s names, as we get what we need. I would love to see a Nevaeh- kabob! I would love to see her stoned out in the open with rocks! I would love to see my girls bite their nipples off with their teeth! I want to see my girl claw her up to head to toe. I hunger to see them scratch her sweet blue eyes that are so heavenly right out of her face! I want to see her gush that cobalt blood like a waterfall from her naked sliced-up body. Yes, I want us to torture her any way we can until she says yes to us. We are going to get at anything of hers we can until she comes with us! As we would, all dance around her, as we would light her up, cheerfully for the last time. How I would love to bleach and fry that perfect hair with chemicals. I and we all in our family want to fuck her up and down anyways we can! Mwah Ha, ha! Yes, Beforehand, we all would kiss, touch, lick, and stick her, and do what we want to get the life from her by sucking away. We would eat her soul away as it would come down from the heavens then through her body, and into ours, as we would drink it out, the way we do. Yes, yes, hell- yes, I can see it now! Yes, I want her soul! Besides, anything or everything I can get out of her to add to my shrine. We even have a voodoo doll of her with pins in it. I have a few things of hers like her hymen-damaged red blood tarnished pink polka-dotted gym underwear, and her indigo pantiliner she had on. That my girl ripped off of her in school, the more things we have the more we can control her mind, but I want more! We want more! We want and need it all! Just like the one girl Lily; I have her one hair ribbon; from Nevaeh, I have something far more personal than her underwear, and it is on display too, and that was her virginity! Who knows that she was a little cock sucker too? How do I have it, you ask? Tee- hee- Will I tell you- how! Now come to think of it, back then my idea was to drive her insane so that she will do it to herself… like she did; by not having anyone to confide in, I wanted that to kill her slowly, that was the plan. Just like I was the arranger of her first sexual partner. I told him to pound the shit out of her, and pop her cherry so hard and fast, that the next day she could not even walk; plus, bleed for many days; which is how I got what is on display… I did this so that it would take everything away from her. If my girls do not have it, then neither does she. I made the schooling system think that she has major problems, from kindergarten up through high school. I will do whatever it takes to have her fall! For the reason that I have to be triumphant! It was a promise that I made to her mother. If I cannot have her mind, body, and soul, no one can. Yeah, now I did not mind putting a bullet in her father's head, so I would have loved to put one on hers also. Yes, I should have gotten to her way back then, when she was just sitting in her playpens so defenseless. Then again, I thought what the hell… it would be better to torture her, and make everything in her life a living hell for her! Why should I play god, when I can send the devil to her bed every night! Let’s not forget to mention everybody showed up at her father's house right after the murder that took place. So, I did not have enough time to complete the job. Oh yes, her mother is a very good friend of mine, and I wanted to make sure that Nevaeh would have nothing. Nothing but pain, misery, and torture from me and my girls. Yes, without her ever knowing, that I was the one causing all the trouble in her life.

Avery saw it then, the color of Chiti's grief. It was the deepest indigo, dark enough to be almost black, like the farthest parts of the ocean. It was an ancient grief, old as indigo itself, and like that age-old dye, its origin was in India. Chiti's mother was not a loving mother. Chiti had talked many times over the years to Avery about her wish to raise a child differently, to lavish her baby with all the attention, wonder, and affection of which she had been deprived. Now Chiti had chosen the very thing she had been trying to escape, a partner who did not want to be a mother in place of a mother who had not wanted to be one. The realization weighed heavy as a stillborn in her arms.

Kissing has never felt like this. Touching has never felt like this. I could kiss him for hours and days and years, and it would never be enough.

One soul that speaks to another can come in any shape or size or form. They can be a sibling, a friend, a lover, even a pet. When you find a soul that fits yours, it doesn’t matter who they are or even what they are.

Any disruption in the flow of Consciousness creates a split, a separation: a wound. So every time you go against your divine nature, which is that of love, freedom, and expansion, you pinch yourself out of this flow.

I’m still here, still in love with you, and care about you more than any other guy ever will.

His new friends did not, perhaps, realize the overpowering effect of the sudden change upon this northernbred man; the effects of the moonlight and the soft trade-wind, the life of love which surrounded him here. Love whispered to him vaguely, compellingly. It summoned him from the palm fronds, rustling dryly in the continuous breeze; love was telegraphed through the shy, bovine eyes of the brown girls in his estate-house village; love assailed him in the breath of the honey-like sweet grass, undulating all day and all night under the white moonlight of the Caribbees, pouring over him intoxicatingly through his opened jalousies as he lay, often sleepless, through long nights of spice and balm smells on his mahogany bedstead—pale grass, looking like snow under the moon. The half-formulated yearnings which these sights and sounds were begetting were quite new and fresh in his experience. Here fresh instincts, newly released, stirred, flared up, at the glare of early-afternoon sunlight, at the painful scarlet of the hibiscus blooms, the incredible indigo of the sea—all these flames of vividness through burning days, wilting into a caressing coolness, abruptly, at the fall of the brief, tropic dusk. The fundament of his crystallizing desire was for companionship in the blazing life of this place of rapid growth and early fading, where time slipped away so fast. ("Sweet Grass")

He could no longer separate sex and love. Not now that he'd known--and destroyed--love. Since he couldn't seem to fall out of love with Gordon, he was stuck not liking sex with anyone else.

Make good friends with a book

Opening her tinderbox, I looked inside. A tiny universe, contained within, peered back. It had a silver tongue. Lovingly it licked my cheek.

Fine. I’ll get them myself. You can go cook something. Make it fattening and filled with grease. No point in worrying now, droite?

In the beginning? In the beginning the universe belonged to the darkness -- And then there was light. For seven hundred years, the universe was nothing but blinding white light. Then the darkness fought back and the white light was splintered. Every sentient being born from the light now contributes to its emotional spectrum. Our state of being adds to its respective light. And it can be condensed into power. Today, the red rage all life feels is harnessed by an ancient enemy of the guardians of the universe -- Atrocitus and his pack of red lanterns. The orange light of avarice has been claimed, like the lives of the orange lanterns, by the obsessive and gluttonous Larfleeze. The blinding yellow terror is wielded by the renegade Green Lantern Sinestro and his self-named corps. The balance of the spectrum and the essential light to destroying the Black Lanterns shines in the hands of the Green Lantern Corps. The glow of blue hope is on the verge of extinction, kept alive only by the undying faith of Saint Walker and a handful of others. And the violet throes of love empower the Star Sapphires, who attempt to convert all to their way of being. My tribe maintains the indigo light of compassion, which sadly remains elusive to most beings. Today, the darkness fights back again. It's begun an assault on the corps. Their homeworlds are under attack by the Black Lanterns.

they’ll look really cool on you, Indigo,” Fathom said. He crossed to the far wall, where all of Pearl’s jewels were displayed on a tall tree of dark brown mahogany with many branches, which he had carved for her for their birthday last year. (Without magic, since Indigo insisted.) “Are you sure?” Indigo asked Pearl. “Won’t Manta be upset if she sees me wearing them instead of you?” “She’ll be thrilled,” Pearl said. “Mother thinks you’re very entertaining.” Indigo wilted a little and Fathom flashed Pearl a glare. “Mother loves you,” he said to Indigo. “She wants you at the party, and she won’t mind what you have to wear to fit in.” He unhooked the string of pearls and the bracelet. Each of the pearls was slightly irregular instead of perfectly round, and they were all different shades of pink from almost white to deep rose. He could see why Pearl didn’t like it — she preferred everything perfectly symmetrical — but he thought it was really cool. He clasped the bracelet around one of Indigo’s wrists and then helped her drape the long cord of pearls around her neck and wings. They glowed against the deep purplish-blue of her scales. Fathom could feel her heart beating as he leaned over her back to adjust the

ruby and topaz and pink against the dark green backdrops. Manta came over to greet them, smiling and tipping her wings down to avoid the string of hanging lanterns. “You look lovely, Indigo,” she said without batting an eyelash at the borrowed pearls. “And you, as always, are the picture of majestic splendor,” she added to Pearl. There was always a weird vibe between Pearl and Manta, which Fathom couldn’t entirely figure out. Indigo said it was because the only way Pearl could become queen was if Manta first challenged Lagoon and won, and then Pearl would have to challenge her own mother. Fathom wasn’t quite sure that was right — because Lagoon had a daughter, Splash, who had no dragonets of her own. If she became queen, couldn’t Pearl challenge her? Indigo said no, because Pearl was technically Splash’s first cousin once removed, not her niece, and then Fathom had to yell “LA LA LA” and stick his claws in his ears because complicated family trees and succession laws were not only boring and impossible, but frankly irrelevant to his life anyway. “Is there coconut rice tonight?” he asked his mother. “And tuna rolls? And that mango-lime drink from last time?

I want to fuck you bare, Winslow. But only if you’re good with it.” Winslow. The name I’d always loved. It was a masculine name, but in his deep voice, it sounded so smooth and soft.

The ice and mix came. We fixed our own. He give a little lift of his glass and gave that Spanish toast that covers everything there is. “Health, money, love, and time to enjoy them.” I’ve never been able to think of anything it doesn’t cover.

Just once, I’d like to feel the kind of deep, passionate, unbreakable love that I read about. I imagine it must be bright and vibrant and overwhelming and achingly beautiful.

Over the past few days, I've found something with Ken and Namid that I thought I'd lost forever. A family. Family.

The people who say grief is just love with nowhere to go are full of shit. Grief is shit. Grief is an endless, heart-wrenching, soul-crushing struggle to remember to breathe.

Today, he feels the same. I’m not the same. I am in love with him. I am stupidly, hopelessly, completely in love with him.

I don’t know what I believe in, Namid. I don’t know if I believe in a god or aliens or faeries or science, but I know that I’m not so closed minded as to question what someone tells me is their truth. There are so many things in this universe that we don’t understand, and not understanding something doesn’t make it scary or wrong.

The deep blue of Namid’s eyes seems to shimmer like sunlight bouncing off deep water in the bright warehouse lights, and with no warning whatsoever, I suddenly realize that I want to get lost in them for the rest of my life.

want to take every moment, every smile, every twist in my chest and wrap them up like the delicate and precious things they are and put them away somewhere hidden and safe so that one day, when I’m alone once again, I can take them out and remember the way it felt to fall in love.

I know, son, but sometimes I say that to protect you, not other people. The way you are, it’s a gift, but I know it takes a toll on you to be around so much grief all the time. I know you can’t help feeling what those around you feel, and I don’t want you to have to go through life living with others’ anger and pain and unhappiness. You deserve better than that. You deserve happiness, Namid.

I nod once, and a broad smile takes over his face. I’ve never seen a smile like his before. It’s blinding. It’s so much like staring directly into the sun that when it falls from his face slightly as he begins speaking again, I’m left with the residual memory of it branded into my retinas, like the pale-green spot you burn into your eyes when you look at an eclipse without glasses in the way everyone does even though you’re not supposed to.

I’m not in love with him, but I think I could be one day, and I want to know what it’s like to fall in love, even if that love isn’t returned.