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It's a strange feeling, being so utterly surrounded by her. Her life scent is on everything. She's on me and under me and next to me. It's as if the entire room is made out of her.

Isaac Marion

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Isaac Marion
Age: 42
Born: 1981
Born: December 30
Music Journalist
Novelist
Writer
Seattle
Washington
Feelings
Scent
Next
Surrounded
Everything
Utterly
Made
Entire
Life
Room
Rooms
Strange
Feeling

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I can’t seem to make myself care about anything to the right or left of the present.
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Warm Bodies ended up becoming one of the most personal relatable things I've written.
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I sigh inside, so exhausted by these ugly questions, but when did a monster ever deserve its privacy?
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I want a new past,new memories, a new first handshake with love. I want to start over in every possible way.
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We have to remember everything. If we don't, by the time we grow up it'll be gone forever.
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What I'm saying is, when you have weight like that in your life, you have to start looking for the bigger picture or you are gonna sink.
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We are where we are, however we got here. What matters is where we go next.
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No praise, no blame. Just so.
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Why is it beautiful that humanity keeps coming back? So does herpes.
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How do I appear unthreatening when her lover's blood is running down my chin?
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Every time I go to sleep, I know I may never wake up. How could anyone expect to? You drop your tiny, helpless mind into a bottomless well, crossing your fingers and hoping when you pull it out on its flimsy fishing wire it hasn't been gnawed to bones by nameless beasts below.
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Here it comes. My inevitable death, ignoring me all those years when I wished for it daily, arriving only after I've decided I want to live forever.
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Deep under our feet the Earth holds its molten breath, while the bones of countless generations watch us and wait.
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I want to change my punctuation. I long for exclamation marks, but I'm drowning in ellipses.
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I don't want to hear music, I don't want the sunrise to be pink. The world is a liar. Its ugliness is overwhelming the scraps of beauty make it worse.
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I would like my life to be a movie so I could cut to a montage.
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What happened to the world was gradual. I've forgotten what it actually was, but I have faint, fetal memories of what it was like. A smoldering dread that never really caught fire till there wasn't much left to burn. Each sequential step surprised us. Then one day we woke up, and everything was gone.
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Soft flesh is eaten by hard teeth.
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It's more eerie to be alone in a city that's lit up and functioning than one that's a tomb. If everything were silent, one could almost pretend to be in nature. A forest. A meadow. Crickets and birdsong. But the corpse of civilization is as restless as the creatures that now roam the graveyards.
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