we raise our hands to the sky, palms up.
insurgency is a deity to the contemporary age and we,
never the chosen few, never the rebel’s song, never the elixir of life,
pick our battles from honeycomb and rhyme.
one of the boringly human pair of boys, the obvious leader, was tall and broad-shouldered, with golden hair, as if nature has said, ‘no worries, buddy, i gotcha, no nasty tiring thinking will ever be necessary, also have a crown.’
Strangely enough, Ronan belonged here, too, just as he had at the Barns. This noisy, lush religion had created him just as much as his father’s world of dreams; it seemed impossible for all of Ronan to exist in one person. Adam was beginning to realize that he hadn’t known Ronan at all. Or rather, he had known part of him and assumed it was all of him.
are you city lights or star lights? dandelion fluffs or wishing wells? ocean breezes or warm fires? art galleries or big libraries? polaroid pictures or record players? antique shops or small cafes? hot chocolate or iced tea?
The writing continued until the driver’s side glass was clear, entirely swept clean by an invisible finger, until there were so many words that none of them could be read.
Until it was only a window into an empty car with the memory of a burger on the passenger seat.
‘Noah,’ Gansey said,
‘I’m so sorry.’ Blue wiped away a tear.
‘Me too.’ Stepping forward, leaning over the hood of the car, Ronan pressed his fingers to the windshield, and while they watched, he wrote:
Let’s see. Live in a luxurious merch mansion, get waited on by servants, spend a little extra time with a budding demolitions expert who plays a mean flute? I guess I can manage it.
’What’s It Gonna Be?’ is based on my personal experience as a kid; thinking you’re in love but then realising that’s maybe just because you feel you should be (and ending up with someone totally unexpected).
