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You ever have that feeling? Like you’ve known someone your whole life but you don’t know them at all.

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
Feeling
Known
Feelings
Someone
Ever
Whole
Life
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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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People grew lazy. They knew too many blessings, and so lost the ability to appreciate what they had
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I sighed. 'It's hard. You're the only one who listens to what I have to say.' Longshot dropped a gentle, comforting arm around my shoulders. 'Then speak louder, girl. Don't let them put out your spark.
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After people have gone, you forget their faults, and you recall the ideal more than the person.
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There’s a reason I hate jigsaw puzzles. I don’t have the patience to find all the border pieces, especially when they’re all the same shade of gray.
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I know you have bad news,” I say softly. “I’m ready for it.” But that’s not true. One is never ready. You just lie and say you are and hope you can take the hit on the chin without going down.
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Love can make us do dreadful things.
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Sometimes when you meet someone, there’s a click. I don’t believe in love at first sight but I believe in that click. Recognition.
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With my partner beside me, I fear nothing, not even death.
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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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Just . . . love me, and let tomorrow look after itself.
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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 felt like the blonde in every horror movie who hears a noise in the basement and goes to investigate alone. Sometimes you smell the stupid all around you, but you step in it anyway.
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Sometimes the past needed to stay buried it was the only way you could move on. And sometimes you had to dig it up, because that too was the only way.
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He’s worth fighting for, but I won’t change who I am for any man. No more than he should alter himself to suit me.
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I admired Stalkers style. He was incredibly fast using two small blades strapped to the backs of his hands. Slash slash slash. Fighting him you wouldn’t die of one great wound but instead bleed out slowly surprised to find yourself weak and dying after a thousand cuts.
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. . . and I don’t expect him to suborn his life into mine any more than I would change my dreams for him. We’re not one soul, one being, however much we love each other.
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My heart raced. He needs you, I thought. Don't let him down. I couldn't remember ever being so happy... or so scared.
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Is that love? It seems like a pale word, too easily tossed about by people who don’t know the meaning of it, who twist it for their own ends. I’m afraid of it now, right up there with clowns, close spaces, and open flames.
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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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