Apollo.
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19, University of Delaware. Double Art History/Neuroscience major. New Yorker.

Alis grave nil, nothing is heavy to those who have wings.
A capite ad calcem, from head to heel.
Ab imo pectore, from the bottom of the chest.
03:41
He slouched back in his seat, looking tired, and leaned his face on his shoulder to look at me while he played with my hair. He started to hum a song, and then, after a few bars, he sang it. Quietly, sort of half-sung, half-spoken, incredibly gentle. I didn’t catch all the words, but it was about his summer girl. Me. Maybe his forever girl. His yellow eyes were half-lidded as he sang, and in that golden moment, hanging taut in the middle of an ice-covered landscape like a single bubble of summer nectar, I could see how my life could be stretched out in front of me. — Maggie Stiefvater
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