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Stalkers lips curled into a sneer. You won't make a move without him, huh? That's embarrassing. No, I said softly. It just hurts because you wish it was you.

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
Lips
Move
Hurt
Stalkers
Wish
Curled
Moving
Sneer
Without
Softly
Make
Embarrassing
Hurts

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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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Brown bird welcomes white wave. Wander no more, dear traveler.
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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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My skill didn't lie in planning battles, only in fighting them.
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A good huntress respected her partners instincts, even if he was socially ignorant.
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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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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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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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It’s what you do that counts, not what you consider doing.
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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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Maybe I was just one of those people who couldn't rest easy unless things went catastrophically wrong.
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It’s easy to do right when everything goes right. But let everything go wrong, and see how difficult it becomes.
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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.
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I never belonged anywhere until I met you.
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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 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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I shake my head, but I can’t change this. I can only bear the scars, as I have always done, as I ever do.
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Sometimes broken things heal crooked. The pieces didn’t fit anymore.
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You don’t know what it’s like to be alone until you’ve had someone inside your head.
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