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I'll always want him. Until every sun goes dark in every sky, until I am nothing more than long-forgotten cosmic dust, I will want him. And even then I suspect my particles will long for his.

Ann Aguirre

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Ann Aguirre
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: August 27
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
the United States of America
Ellen Connor
Ava Gray
Every
Dust
Long
Sky
Always
Forgotten
Sun
Goes
Particles
Dark
Suspect
Nothing
Suspects
Even
Cosmic

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He would bear scars because of me, as I carried them for him.
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Sometimes I miss the old me.
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He was the heat of a fire and the sweetness of the moon I'd only just met.
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The whole world is like Whitewall's razors I burst out. It cuts us, and we bleed but there's no purpose to it.
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A curve of silver hung amid the brighter specks it looked to me like a curved dagger, pretty but deadly, as if it might slice the sky in two.
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Each time Stalker called you 'dove', I wanted to hit him. Because you're not a little gray bird... you're all the light in the world.
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Maybe I was just one of those people who couldn't rest easy unless things went catastrophically wrong.
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She carries chaos like an overcoat.
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Show, not tell, right? Action, not words. You don’t want to hear how sorry I am or how things will be different this time. You want to see it with your own eyes. And until I can show you that, you won’t tell me what I want to hear.
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A huntress never stabbed anything she didn't want to.
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Nobility and self-sacrifice sound wonderful in theory, but now he’s seen how it feels. A dead hero is still dead at the end of the day, and you’re still alone.
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While sight may deceive you, touch rarely does.
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I think my head's a minefield strewn with triggers, and maybe if I survive each explosion, what emerges from the wreckage will be me, really, truly me.
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I couldn't help what I'd done before I learned it was wrong. I could only do better in the future.
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Here in the enclave, one didn't prosper by demonstrating too much independent thought.
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My heart shifted a little in my chest it seemed to swell and beat against my bones until I couldn't hear.
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I always have someplace else I’d rather be, even if I don’t know where that is, yet.
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There were different kinds of strength. I knew that now. It didn't always come from a knife or a willingness to fight. Sometimes it came from endurance, where the well ran deep and quiet. Sometimes it came from compassion and forgiveness.
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Life…never gave me a chance to be soft.
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We find heroes, not on battlefields, but in hospitals that tend the injured. Sometimes I think it’s easier to fight than it is to heal.
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