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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #aura
Uncommon anxiety came to us in common hours when other people were doing mundane things like taking out the trash or checking their phones. But there was nothing to be done for this. We couldn’t change who we were or what had happened. ↗
We bumped into other silent lines of kids going in the same direction. We looked like we were much younger and our lines were headed to the cafeteria or recess or the carpool line. Or it could’ve been a fire drill. Except for the stone-faced police officers weaving between us with rifles. ↗
#grief #gun-violence #laura-anderson-kurk #love #school-shooting
New rules—we needed new rules. No one opens the main doors but me. No one leaves the property without me. No one goes outside without letting me know. I had these horrible images in my head of kids being restrained against their wills, of kids crying my name out, begging me to help them when I was powerless. Desperate times… Lord, my soul called out. Lord…somehow that’s as far as I could get. I didn’t have the words. ↗
#glass-girl #government #laura-anderson-kurk #love #orphanage
--Your headache-- I am trying to imagine it Your head is in your hands The nurse is pouring pills onto a plate November again Too late Your headache It is a bird Wounded, in leaves Its sweet bird’s nest is full of pain in a distant place November There are daisies In the ruined garden, still blooming strangely And in a manic yellow hat, the old lady And the old man, dead in his bed And their daughter, the saint: Her dark, religious hair gets tangled in the branches She is screaming, grabbing While the nurses play Mozart in another room While the bats fly over the roof Snatch the black notes from the blackness Laughing You cry I am going to die I can see them through this window Their little black capes The touching ugliness of their little faces ↗
She notices the unyielding ruthlessness of the storm; the crashing waves, the bitter sky kissing the water on the horizon, the keening laments of the sharp, cutting wind, and the relentless liquid deliverance of its somber showers. She’ll never forgive the audacity of the storm’s neglect. ↗
My mom was sitting at the kitchen table. She’d set her coffee down, making a noise that made me look her way. I’d begun to notice her less and less often, like her colors were fading and blending in with walls. She was shrinking. Or maybe her sphere of influence in the family was shrinking. My dad glanced at her, too, and then wrote something on a napkin. He slid it across the counter to me—Don’t worry. Come home in one piece. Have fun and act like a sixteen-year-old for a change. ↗
