You are sixteen and you are tired of moving around the world. You hope that this time will be different and you hope you’ll make friends quickly and you really hope that you didn’t forget a pen. You meet a boy with eyes that melt you like the California sun and another with lightning in his words and a girl with fire-red hair and ice in her veins. You know that the one way to keep your friends and family happy is to keep your smile and heart alive. You are sixteen and you hope you’ve finally found a place to stay. You are just seventeen and your world has turned. Your (sister) aunt is dead and there are werewolves in the world and nothing is a joke to you. The boy whose eyes melted you glow amber in the light of the moon and the lightning boy grows sharper and the girl with fire on her head has madness in her heart. Your mother joins your aunt but not before she joins those with lamps in their eyes and you wonder which is the betrayal You know seventeen ways to kill a werewolf and seventy ways to kill a human and seven moves with Chinese Ring Daggers. You are just seventeen and you’d like the world to stop. You are old and weary and still seventeen and you’ve made it far in a world that kills the weak. You protect those who cannot protect themselves but wonder if anyone will protect you. The boy with ambers for eyes trades them for gleaming rubies and you no longer make those eyes light up with the glow of first love You’ve found hope in the eyes of another who knows pain as intimately as you and who appreciates the beauty in broken glass. The ice has melted in the fire-haired girl’s veins and instead spikes in the fingers of the boy of lightning who sees strawberries rather than flames. You are middle-aged at seventeen and you are a hero with a silver arrow. You are seventeen and a lover You are seventeen and a fighter You are seventeen and alone You are seventeen and you are home You are seventeen and you will never be eighteen.
a tribute to the archer with the steady hand and steadier heart (via blackjack-15)
