But then Mason touches my neck, to the spot on it where the cut from that night has since healed, and I pull away. He was right, after all; it didn't leave a scar, though part of me wishes it had. At least I'd have some evidence, some justification of this permanence. Stains are even worse when you're the only one who can see them.

She's still beautiful. Not in an obvious Vanessa LeGrande or Byrn Shraeder kind of way. In a quiet way that's always been devastating to me.

The line between true self and feigned self is blurred on all sides. Which I think is a rather handy metaphor for falling in love.

It's nice, this. The canal." He looks at me. "You." "I'll bet you say that to all the canals.

First you inspect me Then you dissect me Then you reject me I wait for the day That you'll resurrect me "Animate

There were signs. Probably more of them than I ever caught, even after the fact. But I missed them all. Maybe because I wasn’t looking for them. I was too busy checking over my shoulder at the fire I’d just come through to pay much attention to the thousand-foot cliff looming in front of me.

I've become to realize there's a world of difference between knowing something happened, even knowing why it happened, and believing it.