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

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Nobility and self-sacrifice sound wonderful in theory, but now he’s seen how it feels. A dead hero is still dead at the end of the day, and you’re still alone.
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It’s what you do that counts, not what you consider doing.
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I'm not sick, Deuce. You don't know your own charm. My charm? I hadn't been aware I had any. It must be the dress, I thought.
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For love to flourish there has to be trust. Promises don’t matter as much as personal choice.
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My body was a machine, plain and simple. I worked it to stay strong I fed it to keep it running.
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He has to take me as I am, broken bits and all.
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I swept down the stairs to find Fade waiting for me at the bottom. His dark eyes widened, and for the first time since I'd known him, he was speechless. He stared up at me like I was everything he ever wanted.
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I’ve lost so many people. Some I left on purpose and never looked back. Some were taken from me, and I never said good-bye.
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Sometimes I miss the old me.
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You don’t need to be afraid of falling // when there’s someone around to catch you.
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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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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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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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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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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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After people have gone, you forget their faults, and you recall the ideal more than the person.
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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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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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This is not a love story. It is my life, and as such, there is love, loss, war, death, and sacrifice. It's about things that needed to be done and choices made. I regret nothing.
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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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