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...So, I do what any reasonable person would do when faced with a crying girl. I get the frex out of there.
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She was a good person. She didn’t deserve to die. I don’t think it works that way.
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She stares back into me, as if we are both seeking a humanity that neither of us has.
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Memories always kill nightmares.
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That's all you need to know about Godspeed. Although you should also know this. I am Eldest.
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Sometimes writing is hard. You know what’s not hard? Watching Netflix. That’s easy.
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It's Elder who's my safe place. Elder's my home.
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Images of broken light dance behind my eyelids. How could this giant lamp compare to the sun? Everything is wrong here. Shattered. Broken. Like the light. Like me. I never thought about how important the sky was until I didn’t have one. I am surrounded by walls. I have just replaced one box for another.
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We're not ignoring the problem, not really. We're all aware it's there, even Bo. We see the edges of this new Bo, this Bo who's special, different. We're not ignoring it. We're just carefully, carefully avoiding it.
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I'm sorry. The two most inadequate words in the English language.
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My heart stutters—not why? or how?—those are not the important questions. The really important question is: by whom?
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I have no emotions. I just stand there, in the rubble of my life. This… this was my home. If it were a person, this would be a gaping chest wound, the kind no one can recover from.
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Don’t you understand? You are Elder. When you take my role as Eldest, you must dedicate your whole life to this one idea: you are the caretaker of every single person on the ship. They are your responsibility. You can never show weakness in front of them: you are their strength. You can never let them see you in despair: you are their hope. You must always be everything to everyone on board.
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They'll never truly be able to comprehend how much was lost for their limitless sky.
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I feel the darkness inside me like a creature curled up in my chest, breathing smoke and fire. It is always there. It weighs on me. It's not contained by anything but my own skin. Sometimes it sleeps. Sometimes it doesn't.
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Sorry? Sorry? Sorry isn't enough. Every. Single. Thing. I ever loved is beyond my reach now. Everything I ever wanted. Everything I ever was.
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He treats books like treasured, rare things, and I guess they are, but my father used to dog-ear books and read them until they fell apart, and I like his method better.
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The sea is a dangerous place because it makes you believe in forever.
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It is like a piece of my soul had been lost, empty, and it is now filled with the light of a million stars.
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Everyone has wounds; everyone pretends they don’t.
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I can see, for just a moment, his beating heart in his ribcage, and then that, too, withers and dies, the useless, blackened lump tapping against his ribs before plopping out of his body.
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And I look at Harley, and the billions of stars are in his eyes, and he's drinking them up, pouring them into his soul.
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People are, at their heart, constantly moving toward a state of entropy. Much like this ship. We’re all spiraling out of control.
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I am surrounded by death, inside and out, and all it does is remind me of how futile everything is, everything ever was.