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.

I’m sick of asking questions everyone else already knows the answers to.

Love can make us do dreadful things.

His lashes, fluttered like butterfly wings. "I could've made you happy, dove." "You did," I whispered

They say funerals are not for the dead but for the living. Those rites are what permit you to move on, so if you don't deal with the remains, you can never deal with the memories. That might be true; we may have walked in their dust down on Venice Minor, but it's not the same as a proper good-bye.

His face held a certain impassivity; you see it in all waiters and valets. They might want to jam a knife through your left eye socket, but you'd never know it from their expression. Working retail, I've acquired a similar look myself.

Here in the enclave, one didn't prosper by demonstrating too much independent thought.