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Every army has a beginning, no matter how humble.

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
Matter
Every
Humble
Army
Beginning

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I never belonged anywhere until I met you.
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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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Sometimes I miss the old me.
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Because it takes more courage to heal the world's hurts than to inflict them.
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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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Here in the enclave, one didn't prosper by demonstrating too much independent thought.
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Once exposed, a secret loses all its power.
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I found it curious that people kept animals for companionship and not food. When I'd asked Mama Oaks when she planned to cook the fat creature that slept in a basket in the kitchen, her eyes almost popped out of her head. Since then, she'd kept her pet away from me, like she suspected I meant to turn it into stew. Clearly, I had a lot to learn.
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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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You don’t need to be afraid of falling // when there’s someone around to catch you.
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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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But the world moves on, even when you don't want it to, even when change feels like the end of everything. It never stops.
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There’s a hollow where he used to be, and it echoes with self-imposed loss.
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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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I'm Sirantha Jax, and I have had enough.
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But it was like a dance across a field strewn with razors, and I bled with every step I took.
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She carries chaos like an overcoat.
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He has to take me as I am, broken bits and all.
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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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A good huntress respected her partners instincts, even if he was socially ignorant.
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