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Most people weren’t aware enough to fear the things that could really hurt them.

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
Things
People
Weren
Aware
Hurt
Fear
Enough
Really

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Sometimes I could almost hate you because you don't understand how much you mean to me, how dark and empty I was before. Solnyshko moyo.
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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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I'm Sirantha Jax, and I have had enough.
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Brown bird welcomes white wave. Wander no more, dear traveler.
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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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Sometimes it felt as if all happiness came at a price. You could never, ever, have perfection. Life gave you beauty so you could bear the pain.
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With my partner beside me, I fear nothing, not even death.
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You could miss someone, but it did no good to fixate on loss. I wished I had the ready words of a Breeder or the ability to comfort with a soft touch. I didn't. Instead I had daggers and determination. That would have to do.
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Because I love you.' It was easy to say it this time now that I understood what it meant. Then I quoted his own words back to him. 'Not just when it's easy. All the time.
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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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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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Time is fluid, so the moments where everything feels perfect pass in a wink, and those where you're on your knees in despair drag on like the death of a thousand cuts.
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Just . . . love me, and let tomorrow look after itself.
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He is not the same person as when we met, but . . . neither am I. Time has refined us, but instead of pushing us apart, we’re closer than ever.
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Did he die well? No, I thought. Nobody did. They just died.
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There’s a hollow where he used to be, and it echoes with self-imposed loss.
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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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More than most, I know the pain of surviving.
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Then in the interest of full honesty, I really wish you'd kiss me right now.
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Once exposed, a secret loses all its power.
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