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He would bear scars because of me, as I carried them for him.

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
Scars
Scar
Carried
Bear
Bears
Would

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Brown bird welcomes white wave. Wander no more, dear traveler.
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I'm Sirantha Jax, and I have had enough.
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She carries chaos like an overcoat.
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Every army has a beginning, no matter how humble.
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I’m as forgiving as the wall you hit at two hundred kilometers an hour.
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Before he bent his head, I knew what he was going to do. Touch his lips to mine. Oh, and I wanted him to... I stilled, hardly daring to breathe. The old refrain of cant and shouldn't sank beneath the weight of new worlds like please and yes.
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Yet sometimes being a friend meant letting people do things that hurt, like putting distance between you, just because it made them happy.
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No matter how interminable something feels, there is always, always an ending. Sometimes that's good, and sometimes it's bad sometimes it's a matter of indifference, and sometimes it's heartbreaking, and your life is never the same thereafter.
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But the world moves on, even when you don't want it to, even when change feels like the end of everything. It never stops.
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Did he die well? No, I thought. Nobody did. They just died.
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People stay together and stay true only as long as they both want to. And all the promises in the world don’t change the length of time. Nothing comes with a guarantee.
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Love sounded terrible if it made you so weak, you couldn't survive with out it.
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Life…never gave me a chance to be soft.
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My skill didn't lie in planning battles, only in fighting them.
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They say funerals are not for the dead but for the living. Those rites are what permit you to move on, so if you don't deal with the remains, you can never deal with the memories. That might be true we may have walked in their dust down on Venice Minor, but it's not the same as a proper good-bye.
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In the enclave, the strong and the physically perfect survived, but if you were strong, you protected the weak until they had an opportunity to grow into their own power.
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I have had passionate kisses and fierce ones, kisses so sweet they tasted like pure honey and kisses that cut like knives, but until this moment, I’ve never had one that said both hello and good-bye.
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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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I’m sick of asking questions everyone else already knows the answers to.
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For I need this scar over my heart to remind me. Crazy as it sounds, if I can bear the wound on my body, it lessens what I must carry on my soul. How he knew that about me, I cannot fathom.
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