My eyelids are my own private cave, he murmured. That I can go to anytime I want.

Listen. Look. Desire is a house. Desire needs closed space. Desire runs out of doors or windows, or slats or pinpricks, it can’t fit under the sky, too large. Close the doors. Close the windows. As soon as you laugh from nerves or make a joke or say something just to say something or get all involved with the bushes, then you blow open a window in your house of desire and it can’t heat up as well. Cold draft comes in.

I was with them for all of it, but more like an echo than a participant.

I was right at the edge of their circle, like the tail of a Q...

My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope; make yourself a structure you can live inside. Amen." — Aimee Bender (Willful Creatures: Stories)

My eyelids are my own private cave, he murmured. That I can go to anytime I want.

To see someone you love, in a bad setting, is one of the great barometers of gratitude.