what it is is the memory of a dance a song you heard long ago to hear it is to be young again and for once for once you are happy

I gave you all my secrets, and you lost them all. You lost a lot of things.But the treasure of it was in the giving, not the keeping.

They’d come for you, and this time they’d come with weapons.I was afraid of that. For you. But not of you.Never afraid of you.

I’m nothing, here. A lowly surveillance analyst. Being the hero could have meant something good for me. Could have changed my whole life.I could have done it. I should have done it.I sat there and...

don’t tell me not to drink. not to smoke. not to grieve. if i speak of these things it’s because i have to— but i am not speaking to you.

I loved you even when you forgot me.And—for a little while—you loved me back.

So. Monday. We meet again.We will never be friends—but maybe we can move past our mutual enmity toward a more-positive partnership.

I know you’ve forgotten me, but I’ll remember you as long as I live.

I watched you roll off me and step away from the bed in silence, but when the heat of your body was gone, I wanted it back.

I couldn’t make myself move from the bed. To reach for you. I’d known this moment was coming, and now that it had arrived I found I had no strength in my limbs.Only my voice....

My skin hungered for you. You were warm, and alive, and in my bed, and I wanted you so bad I could feel the ripple of need on the pads of my fingertips, on the...

ally” who can’t stop congratulating themselves on their enlightenment.

I wanted to take your hand into mine and kiss it.I never dared.

people say life is short.life’s not short—it’s long.the memory of a human being: that’s what’s short.

The best sci-fi stories use the fantastical to remind us of the reality of who we are today, the hope of who we may become tomorrow, and the shame of who we were yesterday.

The second day, I watched you suffer through one of your nightmares, but this one was worse than I’d seen before. You called out another man’s name.

You let me set the water in the shower, and followed me into the booth to stand there with me under the warm spray. You kept your head down, not looking me in the eyes—though...

Not your distress. Never that. I loved— I loved being there. Next to you. The pile of limbs that was Us. Together in the same bed. Even if it meant waking up with a few...

That’s why I was calm. When you woke me in the middle of the night with your hand around my throat, and I thought I was going to die for bringing you home—that I had...

But it turns out Joy is a house built from the same bricks as Sorrow. Pleasure is a poem, and it uses the same words as Pain.

I was asked a series of questions.What did you see? Why are there no files in the video archives? How did the assassin escape? I lied every time.

If the worst you can say about an otherwise sweet-natured and pleasant romance novel is that the main characters are just too wholesome to suit you and your bitter, bitter, cat-infested, 7-years-friendless-and-romantically-barren life, you should...

what really matters? people. always people. protect yourself from people. but love some of them, also. because that’s all there is.

I didn’t know what to do.I knew what I wanted to do. I knew what I was supposed to do.But I didn’t know what I was going to do.