I found myself grinning until my cheeks hurt, my scalp prickling till I thought it might lift off my head. My tongue ran away from me, giddy with freedom. This, and this, and this, I said to him. I did not have to fear that I spoke too much. I did not have to worry that I was too slender, or too slow. This and this and this! I taught him how to skip stones, and he taught me how to carve wood. I could feel every nerve in my body, every brush of air against my skin.
I came across 'The Song of Achilles' by Madeline Miller in one of the most romantic ways one can find a story. I was digging through a pile of used books at my local library when my hand gravitated toward its brilliant teal and glistening gold cover.
Who was he if not destined for fame?
That is — your friend?" "Philtatos," Achilles replied, sharply. Most beloved.
Above us, the constellations spun and the moon paced her weary course. We lay stricken and sleepless as the hours passed.
Indeed, he seemed utterly unaware of his effect on the boys around him.
He is half of my soul,as the poets say.
and her skin shone luminous and impossibly pale, as if it drank light from the moon.
Name one hero who was happy.
Peleus acknowledged this. "Yet other boys will be envious that you have chosen such a one. What will you tell them?" "I will tell them nothing." The answer came with no hesitation, clear and crisp. "It is not for them to say what I will do.