“Why do we read books that make us weep? Undoubtedly because we never have, in reality, enough to lament. We need to gamble with fire, with blood, with mourning, not because we are gamblers, but because we need to almost die. We need to mourn for ourselves. And yet to stay alive.”
What’s it like to dream?, Blue asks, fareaway from the others. Cabeswater’s warm air is all around them, trees whispering in mild summer breezes and Ronan stops in his tracks, momentarily lost in the moment. Like falling in love, Ronan whispers finally and watches Adam from afar.
What’s it like to dream?, Matthew asks one day after they leave the church. Suits rumpled from sitting too long, the bells still chiming in the background. His keys feel unnaturally hot and heavy in his hand. Like being God, Ronan smiles, razor-sharp and drives away.
What’s it like to dream?, Kavinsky cackles over the brutal sound of his roaring engine. The air reeks of gasoline and sulfur and Ronan feels like something’s burning on a leash, a graveyard of wasted dreams between them. Like destroying the world, Ronan says and leaves without a second glance.
What’s it like to dream?, Gansey asks full of excitement, eyes glistening in the dark night. They’re sitting side by side and Ronan watches in silence as Gansey builds his miniature Henrietta anew. There’s the faint sound of a buzzing insect somewhere in the manufacture that keeps him alerted. Like waking up, Ronan murmurs and closes his eyes against the cold air.
What’s it like to dream?, Declan snarls with something like disappointment on his tongue. They’re fighting, they always are and Ronan throws as much punches as Declan does - perhaps even more so. I don’t dream, Ronan bristles and puts his guard up again, shoulders square, face blank when Declan’s fist hits him.
What’s it like to dream?, Noah whispers, voice thick of grief and fear. An old chimney clock is ticking somewhere inside Monmouth, remind them that their time is running out. Ronan reaches out but Noah is cold, frozen skin over frozen bones. Like cheating death, Ronan answers, voice painfully aware of Noah’s fading presence.
What’s it like to dream?, Adam asks carefully and looks at Ronan with a small smile. The smell of fresh air is all around them, cows sleeping peaceful in wide green fields, the Barns towering in the background like a reassuring presence. Like coming home, Ronan says and places kisses along Adam’s fingers one by one.
i wish i had answers to these biting things, like why am i sleeping with the window open in December? & why can i only think about somebody’s fingers on my thigh & moving up? the air is cold, like my room is some dark place & i am that beast reflecting back at you, some flickering street lamp, flashing red with the lights outside just lines on my face, my eyes hollowed like eggs with the yolk drained. i wish i was that first ember. or even the raging thing afterward.
