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There’s a hollow where he used to be, and it echoes with self-imposed loss.

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
Hollow
Echoes
Loss
Used
Self
Imposed

More quotes by Ann Aguirre

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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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His lashes, fluttered like butterfly wings. I could've made you happy, dove. You did, I whispered
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With a polite smile, I decided she was insane.
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I never belonged anywhere until I met you.
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It's only a sure defeat when you stop trying.
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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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Don't worry he tells me tenderly. It doesn't matter who you've been, who you are, or who you become. I'm with you every step of the way.
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Because it takes more courage to heal the world's hurts than to inflict them.
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Are you afraid of falling, baby? No, I’m afraid of landing. [He’s laughing, and I’m smiling.] Stupid idiot smile, don’t you know what comes next?
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Don’t let them see you weak.
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I’d never known it was possible to love as he did— with complete devotion yet devoid of promises.
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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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My heart should be breaking, too, but there comes a point when you’re so inured to loss that you no longer feel the lash.
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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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My skill didn't lie in planning battles, only in fighting them.
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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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He would bear scars because of me, as I carried them for him.
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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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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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Possessiveness isn’t love. I’m not even sure it qualifies as an emotion.
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