FIND ME AT @EXEUNTOMNES

because time is cruel to all, and crueler still to artists. because visions weakens, and voices wither, and talent fades… because happiness is brief, and history is lasting, and in the end… everyone wants to be remembered

there is a defiance in being a dreamer.

there is a defiance in being a dreamer.

And she is tired. Unspeakably tired. But there is no question she has lived.

ideas are so much wilder than memories…

the invisible life of addie larue by v.e. schwab

…it is sad, of course, to forget. but it is a lonely thing, to be forgotten. to remember when no one else does.

“What she needs are stories. Stories are a way to preserve one’s self. To be remembered. And to forget. Stories come in so many forms: in charcoal, and in song, in paintings, poems, films. And books.                                       Books, she has found, are a way to live a thousand lives—                                                                         or to find strength in a very long one.”

And she is tired. Unspeakably tired. But there is no question she has lived.

Being forgotten, she thinks, is a bit like going mad. You begin to wonder what is real, if you are real. After all, how can a thing be real if it cannot be remembered?

“What she needs are stories. Stories are a way to preserve one’s self. To be remembered. And to forget. Stories come in so many forms: in charcoal, and in song, in paintings, poems, films. And books. Books, she has found, are a way to live a thousand lives—or to find strength in a very long one.”

“So you see,” says Luc, “perhaps I win.” Addie shakes her head. “It is only chance,” she says. “I did not call.” He smiles, gaze falling to the ring against her skin. “I know your heart. I felt it falter.” “But I didn’t.” “No,” he says, the word nothing but a breath. “But I was tired of waiting.” “So you missed me,” she says with a smile, and there is the briefest glimpse in those green eyes. A fracture of light. “Life is long, and humans boring. You are better company.”

A boy is born with a broken heart.

The doctors go in, and piece it back together, make it whole, and the baby is sent home, lucky to be alive. They say he is better now, that he can live a normal life, and yet, as he grows up, he is convinced something is still wrong inside.

The blood pumps, the valves open and close, and on the scans and screens, everything functions as it should. But something isn’t right.

They’ve left his heart too open.

Because time is cruel to all, and crueler still to artists. Because visions weakens, and voices wither, and talent fades…. Because happiness is brief, and history is lasting, and in the end… everyone wants to be remembered.