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

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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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A good huntress respected her partners instincts, even if he was socially ignorant.
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Beyond, the unknown lay before us once more, and another impossible task. The four of us emerged from the earth and turned our steps west, toward the last hope for Salvation.
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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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I never knew I had the power to hurt him, only that he possessed the power to hurt me.
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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.
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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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I’m sick of asking questions everyone else already knows the answers to.
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He would bear scars because of me, as I carried them for him.
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Every army has a beginning, no matter how humble.
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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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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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How can you miss someone who’s right beside you?
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Survival feels like cowardice.
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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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For peace to take hold, one person must first stop fighting.
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We stand a professional distance apart, as if I can’t feel his pain screaming in my head. Mine amplifies his they share a joint sound—that of glass breaking—until they swell to a crescendo that deafens.
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Sometimes I miss the old me.
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