Will you ever tell Angela about what you are? What would you do if she found out?
You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. People are only expected to let the soft animal of their bodies love whatever it is that they love —— whatever it may be, that happens to entice them, call for them. We are only expected to love because it is habitual. Because that is what sets us apart from the rest and that is what essentially makes us human Seth was the type to reserve judgement for another day ; he was the type that was more comfortable knowing that kinship and heartache were universal. He would ask you to tell him about despair, yours, and he would then in turn tell you his. Meanwhile the world goes on. All the while, the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, it calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting ———- over and over announcing your place in the family of things. Until of course, that peace of mind and that perpetual calm is interrupted by something that is less familiar, and more unconventional or atypical. And it’s not because it is something that is necessarily daunting, disconcerting, or strange, but because our bodies and our minds react so negatively to change. It’s so funny because we want things to be kept at a stagnant, we want things to stay the same rather than grow or augment into something we no longer recognize, shift and warp even if slowly —- we want this everlasting consistency that is not only entirely elusive, but completely unattainable. It’s funny, familiarity is a magician that is cruel to beauty but kind to ugliness. It’s funny, because great affection is often the cause of violent animosity. The quarrels of men often arise from too great a familiarity.
So take a moment to understand that he is not what you are familiar to. He looks as though he is the perfect boy with untouched skin and tastefully disheveled hair but —- he, too —- is a monster. And in the form of his forefathers, it was like he was inside this ethereal sphere wherein exists no logic , no reasoning, no typicality, no explanations, no realism, no comparisons, nothing ordinary, and no normalcy. And then if you are to understand him, you have to step into his realm and leave all of those things behind. He was not typical. His world, not typical. His world was full of gods and monsters and individuals with ambiguous thought processes, unknown powers and people with no moral compass pointing due north — or south — or whichever way was up. Sometimes, he couldn’t tell. Sometimes his ears wouldn’t stop ringing. And sometimes, the scent of the cold and the undead burnt his nostrils and his sinuses like unrefined sugars to the intestines. Whatever the case, he was not ordinary. And he was not normal. And he never would be. Therein lie the circumstance, that made him dismiss the point of waking up in the morning and wishing to be so. Wishing to be normal. Because he knew deep inside that no matter what he did, there would always be an animal inside him trying to claw its way out. Not a soft animal of the heart. The only reason BELLA knew about him ABOUT them was because she had been IN on it since the beginning. BORN to be a VAMPIRE, she said. Well, he wasn’t about to risk ANGELA’S life. Or her HAPPINESS. Her health. OR her sanity. For the sake of letting her IN on a secret that had absolutely NOTHING to DO with her.
❝ … ❞ ❝ ——— What would I do ? ❞ ❝ … I think you mean, what would Sam do.❞ After all. ❝ —— ❞ ❝Look.❞ ❝I don’t think you understand.❞ He was bound by a contract of reticence and blood. ❝I ——— would be DEAD. ❞
