She loved him, though not at this particular moment.

i'm going mad, i told myself. let me not be mad.

A person is, among all else, a material thing, easily torn and not easily mended.

When they kissed she immediately felt his tongue, tensed and strong, pushing past her teeth, like some bully shouldering his way into a room. Entering her.

He's never quite got the trick of conversation, tending to hear in dissenting views, however mild, a kind of affront, an invitation to mortal combat.

We know so little about each other. We lie mostly submerged, like ice floes, with our visible social selves projecting only cool and white.

He would work through the night and sleep until lunch. There wasn't really much else to do. Make something, and die.