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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.

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
Hurt
Happy
Sometimes
Made
Letting
Things
Putting
Like
Distance
People
Meant
Friend

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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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Because it takes more courage to heal the world's hurts than to inflict them.
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I’m sick of asking questions everyone else already knows the answers to.
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There’s a reason I hate jigsaw puzzles. I don’t have the patience to find all the border pieces, especially when they’re all the same shade of gray.
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For peace to take hold, one person must first stop fighting.
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Sometimes I miss the old me.
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Every army has a beginning, no matter how humble.
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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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You don’t need to be afraid of falling // when there’s someone around to catch you.
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My skill didn't lie in planning battles, only in fighting them.
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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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There are quiet ways to die where the body just doesn’t notice that the heart is gone.
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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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How can you miss someone who’s right beside you?
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With a polite smile, I decided she was insane.
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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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Just . . . love me, and let tomorrow look after itself.
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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 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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I don’t like anyone knowing anything about me that I didn’t choose to tell them.
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