My Thoughts Scatter And Blow Like Leaves In The WindI Struggle To Hold On To Them Long EnoughTo Write

My thoughts scatter and blow Like leaves in the wind I struggle to hold on to them long enough To write them down  Before another comes my way Before they dance away Out of reach It is frustrating because I have so much to say But sometimes I let the thoughts come And I admire their shape Their colour Their uniqueness And let them go Because some leaves are not meant to be held And some thoughts are not meant to be kept And so I let them go And I am at peace

The Intangible Things 

You write Of a girl who has breathed life into you who sings your demons to sleep   who lights your inspiration who is your demise                                                                                                                                                                                                                          You talk of a girl Who you wish to know But is the unknowable Who is sugar and spice Who is fire and ice                                                                                                                                                                                                                            You dream of a girl Who is the sweetest sin Who is the soundest salvation  Who is everything Who is nothing                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  You outline a girl Who may be one Who may be many Who may be real Who may be anything but                                                                                                                                                                                                         I read Of this girl And sometimes I allow myself to think It may be me You write of

Tell me, do you write of me?

* @writerscreed *

Holy. Crap. Realizing that Edward having Alice kidnap Bella and hold her hostage is dangerously close to what happened with Tamlin and Feyre...

But Feyre realized the relationship was toxic. Feyre. Got. Out. 

I mean think about it Ianthe is like Alice (it hurts me to say it cause I love my Alice) and Lucien is idk Emmet? Jasper? And they’re all so committed to keeping her ‘safe’ from the Voltari//Prythian that they make a deal with the Voltari//Hybern? Feyre and Bella both becoming powerful immortals after almost dying for their love? 

Main point: The same toxic relationship...but two different endings.

And of course let us not forget the golden line of  “I'm going to introduce you to a wonderful invention called Uber,”™ Kit Herondale: The bridge from the Shadowhunter world to our odd form of mundane normalcy.

God bless Cassandra Clare for finally breaking the YA “what is technology we can’t use that” trope we stan OfficeMax the skilled calligrapher

I read these words I hear them I feel them I know them  I recognize them I get lost with them Explore the depths of your mind They tell me your secrets And yet I know none of them  Your words are lovely And lying And loyal  And as we reminisce  I catch glimpses of a reflection so clear Before your words lead me away  They leave me to wonder If perhaps  These words were made for me

Tell me, do you write of me? 

I hate Tamlin as much as the next person, I swear, but can we just take a quick sec to remember he plays the fiddle? I'm not asking you to forgive his sins...just to think about this half beast half man playing the fiddle...

---

He had once mentioned that he would have liked to be a travelling minstrel if not a warrior or a High Lord—now, hearing him play, I knew he could have made a fortune from it.

I shouted over the music, “I don’t need a keeper!” I wanted to spin and spin and spin. “No, you don’t,” Tamlin said, never once stumbling over his playing. How his bow did dance upon the strings, his fingers sturdy and strong, no signs of those claws that I had come to stop fearing … “Dance, Feyre,” he whispered. So I did. 

Through it all, Tamlin and his musicians played such joyous music that I didn’t think the world could contain it all. I sashayed over to him, my faerie lord, my protector and warrior, my friend, and danced before him. He grinned at me, and I didn’t break my dancing as he rose from his seat and knelt before me in the grass, offering up a solo on his fiddle to me. 

Yes, I see the toxicity in the words woven in. I do, but do we remember? When all was good a pure? Even for just a moment? Because Tamiln played the damn fiddle?