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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.

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
Silver
Specks
Sky
Slice
Looked
Curve
Pretty
Amid
Two
Deadly
Might
Curves
Dagger
Like
Brighter
Curved
Hung
Daggers

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Then in the interest of full honesty, I really wish you'd kiss me right now.
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I want to drag you off and hide you away,” he whispered. “Why?” “I always knew you were beautiful, but now everyone else will too. I won’t be able to keep other boys away from you, and it’ll make me crazy.
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Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter for the other. Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth for the other. Now there will be no loneliness, for each of you will be companion to the other. Now you are two persons, but there are three lives before you: His life, Her Life, and Your life together.
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People try to make sense of things, and if they don’t know the answers, they make them up,because for some, a wrong answer is better than none.
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Like most, I was a mix of good and bad, anger and protectiveness, kindness and pride. But right now, I had only strangled fear and the promise of revenge.
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It's only a sure defeat when you stop trying.
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Survival feels like cowardice.
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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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I always have someplace else I’d rather be, even if I don’t know where that is, yet.
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Beyond, the unknown lay before us once more, and another impossible task. The four of us emerged from the earth and turned our steps west, toward the last hope for Salvation.
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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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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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Caring too much could be dangerous I saw that now. But the alternative was no better.
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But wishes were empty thoughts, cast down a dark hole. They didn't come true unless you worked for them. I'd learned that about the world, if nothing more.
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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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For peace to take hold, one person must first stop fighting.
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My skill didn't lie in planning battles, only in fighting them.
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I never knew I had the power to hurt him, only that he possessed the power to hurt me.
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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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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.
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