The nervous flutter of their injured wings, barely audible above the hammering of a hummingbirdвЂ™s heart. And in the aftermath, an eerie calm settles over the forest, as shell-shocked birds sing warily in the sunlight. There are storms that change the skyline, that leave patches of blue where branches had once spread their brittle fingers. For it is the sound of your fate beckoning. But I can tell you now-what you felt was real-and you must always listen to that click. Then reality intervenes and with a shake of your head, you tell yourself to stop chasing shadows. How do you explain it without sounding unsound? That click you felt when your eyes met his, like the switch of a train track, transporting you for one miraculous moment, to what might have been. But you turned away, out of shyness or indecision and by the time you turned back, he was gone. A whole new world would have opened up like a vortex to swallow you both into blissful delirium. A spilled drink, a stumble through the door-his hand reaching out to steady you and it would have happened. (СЃ)Дoes it make you crazy? To think he saw you-his eyes passed over you and if only there had been some small mishap in that pivotal moment. You will love him, in the way you walk a tightrope-in the way people learn to fall asleep in a war zone. He will touch you and you will feel a lifetime of indifference-of apathy melt away in a single moment. These are the things we inherit by choice or by chance. Someone elseвЂ™s ring tone, someone elseвЂ™s song, someone elseвЂ™s words, someone elseвЂ™s broken heart. An echo from another time, another place. It is all we carry from one life to the next.

When we leave this world, we give up all our possessions and our memories.

Somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creation, there is a pulse that echoes of you and I. Even if centuries separated us, I would still feel you. If you came to me with a face I have not seen, with a voice I have never heard, I would still know you. And it keeps alive that aching, throbbing hope, that somewhere in the world, there is a cafe and within those walls, he is there, hoping just as much as you. You carry that love with you, like a bright and blazing beacon, a straight line from your heart to his. Like the air around you, it stretches all across the world, it does not leave a single thing untouched. Your love for him is the same-it runs wild and free. When in truth, spring blurs into summer and always has, long before that line was ever drawn. We endlessly define what it is to be in love. We number our days and divide our seasons. It dawns on you slowly, like a warm winter sunrise-where the promise of summer shines out from within. It appears as a song on the radio or a particular blue in the sky. When love finds you, it doesnвЂ™t come with crashing waves or thunderbolts. He would turn to look at you and it would all begin again. Or there would be someone else, just like him, sitting, with his head buried in a book. Then forever after, you spend your life, walking into cafes, hoping heвЂ™ll magically appear. One day you walk into a cafe and there he is. It's best not to reprint poems into repetitiveness.

Still, I read this one before some of her other books and it sorta spoiled a bit of fun for me.

Lullabies by lang leav epub