Matched Ky Quotes

Cassia. I know which life is my real one now, no matter what happens. It’s the one with you. For some reason, knowing that even one person knows my story makes things different. Maybe it’s like the poem says. Maybe this is my way of not going gentle. I love you. (Ky Markham)

Ky can play this game. He can play all of their games, including the one in front of him that he just lost. He knows exactly how to play, and that's why he loses every time.

I love. The most reckless thing of all.

This is a cruel thing to do because when someone knows your story they know you. And they can hurt you. It's why I give mine away in pieces, even to Cassia.

Love has different shades. Like the way I loved Cassia when I thought she'd never love me. The way I loved her on the Hill. The way I love her now that she came into the canyon for me. It's different. Deeper. I thought I loved her and wanted her before, but as we walk through the canyon together I realize this could be more than a new shade. A whole new color.

Cassia and I sit as near to each other as we can. She leans into me and I keep my arms around her. I don't fool myself that I hold her together- she does that on her own- but holding her keeps me from flying apart.

Some people think the stars must look closer from up here. They don't. When you're up here, you realize how distant they really are—how impossible to reach.

I love you." lightning. Once it has forked, hot-white, from sky to earth, there is no going back. It's time. I feel it, I know it. My eyes on him, his on me, and both of us breathing, watching, tired of of waiting. Ky close his eyes, but mine are still open. what will it feel like, his lips on mine? Like a secret told, a promise kept? Like that line in the poem-a shower of all my days- silvery rain falling all around me, where the lighting meets the earth? The whistle blows below us and the moment breaks. We are safe. For now.

Things happen whether you deserve them or not

Ky always acts as though someone watches him. And, apparently, he watches back.

Let me believe in this, all of this, and you believe it too. (Ky Markham)

Being with Ky, being with Xander -both things feel like standing in the light. Different types of light, but neither feels dark.

And when I see Ky again, which I know will happen, I will whisper the words I have written in his ear, against his lips. And they will change from ash and nothing into flesh and blood.

You don’t usually get to choose the measure of suffering or the degree of joy you have. (Ky Markham)

I'm falling in love. I am in love. and it's not with Xander, though I do love him. I'm sure of that, as sure as I am of the fact what I feel for Ky is something different.

Why?” Lon asks in a whine. “We spent half the summer marking these paths!” I think I see a faint smile on Ky’s face and I realize that he likes Lon. Who asks the questions no one else will ask even though he never gets an answer. It strikes me that this is a kind of bravery. A wearing-down kind of bravery, but bravery nonetheless.

Watching Ky wake is better than a sunrise.

at first when the rain fell from the sky so wide and deep it smelled like sage, my favorite smell I went up on the plateau to watch it come to see the gifts it always brought but this rain changed from blue to black and left nothing.

Ky's story, bit by bit, is turning to ash and nothing. Except. He remembers it, and now I do, too.

No one knows anything," Vick says. "Except Ky. He thinks he's found the truth in a girl.

My words never last long. I have to destroy them before anyone sees them. But. I remember them all. For some reason, the act of writing them down makes me remember. Each word I write brings me closer to finding the right ones. And when I see Ky again, which I know will happen, I will whisper the words I have written in his ear, against his lips. and they will change from ash and nothing into flesh and blood.

Ky is heavy in my mind, deep in my heart, his palms warm on my empty hands. I have to try to find him. Loving him gave me wings and all my work has given me the strength to move them.

So I fight. I fight the only way I know, with thinking of Ky, even thought the pain of missing him is so strong I can hardly stand it... I think of him, I think of him, I think of him.

Ky smiles then, a smile I've never seen before. It's the kind of daring, reckless smile that could make people follow him straight into a firing, a flood.

Any other questions?" "Just one," I say. "What color are your eyes?" I want to know what he thinks, how he sees himself - the real Ky - when he dares to look. "Blue," he says sounding surprised, "they've always been blue." "Not to me." "What do they look like to you?" he says puzzled, amused. Not looking at my mouth anymore, looking into my eyes. "Lots of colors," I say. "At first I thought they were brown. Once I thought they were green..." "What are they now?" he asks. He widens his eyes a little, leans closer, lets me look as long and deep as I want. "Well?" "Everything," I tell him, "They're everything.

Good-byes are like this. You can’t always mark them well at the moment of separation—no matter how deep they cut. (Ky Markham)

For a moment nothing happens. The figure stands still and I stand cold and alive and- He starts to run. I make my way down the rocks, slipping, sliding, trying to get to the plain. I wish, I think, my feet clumsy, moving too fast, not fast enough, I wish i could run, I wish I'd written a whole poem, I wish I kept the compass- And then I reach the plain and wish for nothing but what I have. Ky. Running toward me. I have never seen him run like this, fast, free, strong, wild. He looks so beautiful, his body moves so right. He stops just close enough for me to see the blue of his eyes and forget the red on my hands and the green I wish I wore. "You're here," he says, breathing hard and hungry. sweat and dirt cover his face, and he looks at me as though I'm the only thing he ever needed to see. I open my mouth to say yes. But I only have time to breathe in before he closes the last of the distance. All I know is the kiss.

Ky still looks at me and I wonder for a moment if he is going to ask me what I am thinking about. But of course, he doesn't. He doesn't learn things by asking questions... He learns by watching.

...but suddenly I hope Xander's right. I hope part of me fell in love with Ky before anyone else told me to.

One night," Ky says, "doesn't seem like much to ask." I don't speak. He moves closer and I feel his cheek against mine and breathe in the scent of sage and pine, of old dust and fresh water and of him. "For one night, can we just think of each other? Not the Society or the Rising or even our families?" "No," I say. "No what?" He tangles one of his hands in my hair, the other draws me closer still. "No, I don't think we can," I say. "And no, it isn't too much to ask.

Neither of us moves for a moment, locked instead in each other's eyes and in the branches of this Hill we might never finish climbing.

Some people think the stars must look closer from up here. They don't. When you're up here, you realize how distant they really are--how impossible to reach.

They could not write their names, but I can write mine, and I will again, somewhere where it will last for a long, long time. I will find Ky, and then I will find that place.

The two of us hold each other's gazes for a long, unembarrassed moment and I feel that Ky knows. I'm not sure what he knows - whether he knows me, or just something about me.

Right then I knew we were feeling the same thing. I knew we loved Cassia, if not exactly the same way, then the same amount. And the amount was: completely.

The pain wants to eat me away. I wish I could have one without the other, but that's the problem with being alive. You don't usually get to choose the measure of suffering or the degree of joy you have.

But if you were matched," I say softly, "What do you think she'd be like?" "You," he says, almost before I've finished. "You,

But my father goes on."And I've noticed other things,too.I think you're in love with Ky Markham.I think you want to find him,wherever he's gone.

Was [Sisyphus] from your province? 'I don't know. I don't know if he's real,' Ky says. 'If he ever existed.' 'Then why tell his story?' I don't understand, and for a second I feel betrayed. Why did Ky tell me about this person and make me feel empathy for him when there's no proof that he ever lived at all? Ky pauses for a moment before he answers, ...'Even if he didn't live his story, enough of us have lived lives just like it. So it's true anyway.

That's when I realize that the statistics the Officials give us do not matter to me. I know there are many people who are happy and I am glad for them. But this is Ky. If he is the one person who falls by the wayside while the other ninety-nine are happy and fulfilled, that is not right with me anymore. I realize that I don't care about the Officer pacing below or the other hikers among the trees, or really anything else at all, and that is when I realize how dangerous this truly is.

Everyone has something of beauty about them. In the beginning for me, it was Ky's eyes I noticed, and I love the, still. But loving lets you look, and look, and look again. You notice the back of a hand, the turn of a head, the way of a walk. When you first love, you look blind and you see it all as the glorious, beloved whole, or a beautiful sum of beautiful parts. But when you see the one you love as pieces, as whys-why he walks like this, why he closes his eyes like that-you can love those parts, too, and it's a love at once more complicated and more complete.

Ky gives me three gifts for my birthday. A poem, a kiss and the hopeless, beautiful belief that things might work. When I open my eyes... I say, "I didn't give you anything for your birthday, i don't even know when it is." And he says, "Don't worry about that" and I say, "What can I do?" and he answers, "Let me believe in this, all of this, and you believe it too." And I do.

close your eyes,"I say to Ky, and i bend down, his breathing above me while he waits. "There", I say and he looks at whatI've written. I LOVE YOU

He says my name, over and over as we move together, until I'm caught in a strange place between weak and strong, between dizziness and clarity and need and satiety and give and take and... "Ky," I say back.

You told me once," I say to Ky, holding up the bud for him to see and then pressing it into his hand, "that red was the color of beginning." He smiles. The color of beginning. For a moment, a memory flickers in and out. It is a rare moment in spring when both buds on the trees and flowers on the ground are red. The air is cool and at the same time warm. Grandfather watches me, his eyes bright and determined.

Much as I love looking at the stars, I never learned to guide by them. I mark my course by people; Xander, a point in the map, my parents, another point; Ky, the final destination. When Xander moves, the geography of everything changes.

Reaching and reached. Cassia

When it rains, I remember

Ky watches me with that look in his eyes, the one sad and full of love at the same time, the one he gives me when he knows something I don't, something he thinks has been stolen from me.

it's Ky's move. In the quiet before the Ky takes his turn, Xander watches him carefully. Ky's hand hovers over the board. For a moment, as he holds the piece in the air, I see where he could put it to win and I know he sees it, too, that he planned the whole game for that last move. He looks at Xander and Xander looks back, both of them locked in some kind of challenge that seems to run deeper and older than what's happening here on this board. Then Ky moves his hand and puts his piece down in a spot where Xander can eventually overtake him for the win. Ky doesn't hessitate once he places the piece; he sets it down with a solid sound and leans back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. I think I see the slightest hint of a smile on his lips but I can't be sure.

Thank you," I tell Xander. "I didn't get anything for you -" "It's all right," he says, "but maybe - you could -" He looks into my eyes and I know what he wants. A kiss. Even thought he knows about Ky. Xander and I are still connected; this is still good-bye. I know already that that kiss would be sweet. It would be what he would hold on to, as I hold on to Ky's. But that's something I don't think I can give. "Xander -" "It's all right," he was, and then he stands up. I do too, and he reaches for me, pulls me close.

I know the Otherlands are to her what Ky is to me, the best, most beautiful place, not fully realized, but full of promise.

What did you think about?" I wish I could tell him that I thought about him, but I lied to him once and I won't do it again. And besides, I wasn't thinking about Xander either. "I thought about angels," I say. "Angels?" "You know. The ones in the old stories. How they can fly to heaven." "Do you think anyone believes in them anymore?" He asks. "I don't know. No. Do you?" "I believe in you," he says, his voice hushed and almost reverent. "That's more faith than I ever thought I'd have.

I wanted to run, but I couldn't leave Ky. And I didn't want him to hear the sounds of people trying to save the man, or how Ky's own breathing sounded labored. So I crouched down in front of Ky and covered one of his ears with my shaking hand, and then I leaned right up close to his other ear and I sang to him. I didn't even know I knew how.

I should be with Ky in the infirmary. i should be with Xander in prinson. I should be sorting for a cure. can only try to do all three and hope these pieces of myself are enough to find something that can make me whole

The way the two of them look at each other is like touching.

They are giving us pieces of a real life instead of the whole thing. And I'll tell her that I don't want samples and scraps. A taste of everything but a meal of nothing.

I will try to forget that Ky said “home” when he looked into my eyes.

Markham," I tell him. "Ky Markham." Because that's the name she knows me by. That's my real name now.

Watching Ky wake is better than a sunrise. One moment, he's still and down deep, and the next moment I can see him returning out of the dark, coming to the surface. His face shifts, his lips move, his eyes open. And then his smile, the sun At the same time that he bends down to me, I reach up and am warmed as our lips meet.

I was trying to find a way to you," Ky says. "I wanted to cross the plain and get back to the Society somehow. We took some things from the farmers' township for trade.

But if you were matched," I say softly, "What d you think she'd be like?" "You," He says, almost before I've finished. "You.

So many beginnings. I tell myself that in a way it's good that I haven't found Ky yet, because I still don't know what to whisper to him when I see him, which words would be the very best ones to give.

Outside, Ky and I walk down the path a little way. I lean back against the rock and stands before me, reaching up to put his hand along my neck, under my hair and the collar of my coat. His hand feels rough, cut from carving and climbing, but his touch is gentle and warm. The night wind sings through the canyon and Ky's body shields me from the cold.

back in Borough I ran barefoot on the grass to try to help Ky. Out here I wear heavy boots and have to run around rocks that threaten my ankle and yet I feel lighter than I did back then, and lighter by far than I ever felt running on the smooth belt of the tracker. I'm filled with adrenaline and hope; I could run forever this way, running to Ky.

And that is how it’s always been with Ky, I realize now, looking back. We have always seen him swimming along the surface. Only that first day did we see him dive deep.

Ky pauses for a moment before he answers, his eyes wide and deep like the oceans in other tales or like the sky in his own.

Ky wants someone to see him. He wants me to see him.

Ky and I have been marking, too, with flags on the Hill. With the poetry of others and with words of our own.

Because in the end you can't always choose what to keep. You can only choose how to let it go

So many beginnings. I tell myself that in a way it's good that I haven't Ky yet, because I still don't know what to whisper to him when I see him, which words would be the very best ones to give.

I look up at Ky and his sorrowful expression matches my own. He kisses my cheek, and I cup his face. My mum’s words have helped put things in perspective, and I truly hope that her letter offers James some peace.

It feels good to be with Xander, in a different way than it feels good to be with Ky. Still. Being with Ky, being with Xander- both things feel like standing in the light. Different types of light, but neither feels dark.

I close my eyes. I love KY. But I don't understand him. He won't let me reach him. I have made mistakes, too, I know it, but I am tired of chasing him through canyons and out onto plains and stretching out my hand only to have him take it some times and not others.

Back in Borough I ran barefoot on the grass to try to help Ky. Out here I wear heavy boots and have to run around rocks that threaten to turn my ankle and yet I feel lighter that I did back then, and lighter by far than I ever felt running on the smooth belt of the tracker. I'm filled with adrenaline and hope; I could run forever this way, running to Ky.

With a rumble of disapproval, the griffin removed his paw from Slack’s back. She scrambled upright and darted out of reach, eyeing her discarded hatchet but evidently not daring to match her speed against the griffin’s. First wise move Ky could recollect her making. Ever. Slack opened her mouth, but Gundhrold fixed her with a stern glare, silencing her before she could speak.

I love you." Lightning. Once it has forked, hot-white, from sky to earth, there is no going back. It's time. I feel it, I know it. My eyes on him, his on me, and both of us breathing, watching, tired of of waiting. Ky close his eyes, but mine are still open. what will it feel like, his lips on mine? Like a secret told, a promise kept? Like that line in the poem - a shower of all my days - silvery rain falling all around me, where the lighting meets the earth?

I failed him because I cannot do for him what Ky does for me. I can't help Xander sing.

In Ky’s eyes is such complete love and hunger that it goes through me like the sharp, high note of a bird in the canyon, echoing all the way through my body. I am seen and known, if not yet touched. The

Still. Being with Ky, being with Xander—both things feel like standing in the light. Different types of light, but neither feels dark.

Burning the napkin with that part of his story on it is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Like the books out at the Restoration site, like Grandfather’s poem, Ky’s story, bit by bit, is turning into ash and nothing.

I fly toward Ky and away from Xander and into what is Outer, different.

But as I feel Ky’s fingers tighten around mine, I think how this is always the way he is, giving me something even when most would think there was nothing left to do but let go.

Close your eyes,” I say to Ky, and I bend down, his breathing above me while he waits. “There,” I say, and he looks at what I’ve written. I love you.

Why care about a flat planet populated by flat people? Who cares about a place where there is no Ky?

Ky leans toward me, his eyes holding mine, near enough that I can hear the slight crackle of the poem as he moves. I close my eyes as his lips touch warm on my cheek. I think of the cottonwood seeds brushing against me that day on the air train. Soft, light, full of promise.

Ky closes his eyes, but mine are still open.

But Ky’s not your Match,” Xander says. “He can’t be, because—” “Because why?” I ask. Does Xander know about Ky’s status after all? How? “Because I am,” Xander says.

And then I picture my father closing the door gently but firmly and keeping me safe inside this house. Inside these walls where I have been safe for so long. But this house isn’t safe anymore, I remind myself. This house is where I first saw Ky’s face on a microcard. Where they searched my father. Is there a safe place anywhere in this Borough? In this City, this Province, this world?

Later that night I realize that Ky did not give me any more of his story and I did not ask. Perhaps it is because now I live in his story. Now I am a part of his, and he of mine, and the part we write together sometimes feels like the only part that matters.

This is one of the reasons I need Ky, I realize. Because when I am with him, I feel.

Like that day at the pool when she finally decided she was ready to jump: She went into the water without looking back. So I shouldn’t have been surprised at the way she fell in love with Ky because it’s the way I wanted her to fall in love with me: completely.

It could,” Ky agrees. He’s no longer smiling but his eyes are mischievous.

I think of my second lost compass sinking to the bottom of the river, like the stone it was before Ky changed it.

In a story, you can turn to the front and begin again and everyone lives once more. That doesn’t work in real life. And I love my real people the most. Bram. My mother. My father. Ky. Xander. Can

I don’t know. I don’t know if he’s real,” Ky says. “If he ever existed.” “Then why tell his story?” I don’t understand, and for a second I feel betrayed. Why did Ky tell me about this person and make me feel empathy for him when there’s no proof that he ever lived at all? Ky pauses for a moment before he answers, his eyes wide and deep like the oceans in other tales or like the sky in his own. “Even if he didn’t live his story, enough of us have lived lives just like it. So it’s true anyway.

Ky’s with us.

I shouldn't have been surprised by the way at the way she fell in love with Ky because it's the way I wanted her to fall in love with me: completely.

I wouldn't care how small the world became as long as I had Cassia at the center of mine.

You don’t usually get to choose the measure of suffering or the degree of joy you have - Ky Markham