In my palm I can feel the echo of her pulse, standing in for the absense of mine.

The moment the light went out, everyone stopped pretending.

It's not like I'm such a shiny happy person either, you know? I'm a wreck too, I'm just... still alive.

Even in my bravest moment, I am a coward.

He is spent. His mind is mercury again, its brief surge of humanity melting into an oily residue on its surface, and he no longer understands the feelings he felt in that strange moment on the overpass. But he did feel them. They did happen. They rest on the murky seabed of his mind, buried under sand and silt and miles of grey waves. Patient seeds waiting for light.

The shadows of the room pool in the lines of our faces, draining our eyes of hue. "There's nothing left worth saying.

It's rare that I read more than two or three books by any one author, usually only one.