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But it was like a dance across a field strewn with razors, and I bled with every step I took.

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
Like
Field
Across
Dance
Step
Fields
Took
Bled
Steps
Strewn
Every
Razors

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He's never going to sit at my feet and write me poems, which is good because I hate poetry, except dirty ones that rhyme.
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He is not the same person as when we met, but . . . neither am I. Time has refined us, but instead of pushing us apart, we’re closer than ever.
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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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Maybe I was just one of those people who couldn't rest easy unless things went catastrophically wrong.
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Is that love? It seems like a pale word, too easily tossed about by people who don’t know the meaning of it, who twist it for their own ends. I’m afraid of it now, right up there with clowns, close spaces, and open flames.
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His reply offers infinite solace in a single word. Always.
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How can you miss someone who’s right beside you?
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Show, not tell, right? Action, not words. You don’t want to hear how sorry I am or how things will be different this time. You want to see it with your own eyes. And until I can show you that, you won’t tell me what I want to hear.
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With my partner beside me, I fear nothing, not even death.
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But I miss the woman I was, even as I learn to accept the new creature I’ve become.
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What was the good of having such a fine home if you weren't willing to fight for it?
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Not just when its easy. All the time.
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Don’t let them see you weak.
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Life…never gave me a chance to be soft.
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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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Each love is unique. Special. Giving to one never takes away from another.
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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 always have someplace else I’d rather be, even if I don’t know where that is, yet.
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He went in, lean and deadly, and ended the creature with a lightning-fast spike of his blade. It shrieked, likely altering the rest. The death call carried like a mournful song.
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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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