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

It frustrates and fascinates me that we'll never know for sure, that despite the best efforts of historians and scientists and poets, there are some things we'll just never know. What the first song sounded like. How it felt to see the first photograph. Who kissed the first kiss, and if it was any good.

There is no ideal world for you to wait around for. The world is always just what it is now, and it's up to you how you respond to it.

What happened to the world was gradual. I've forgotten what it actually was, but I have faint, fetal memories of what it was like. A smoldering dread that never really caught fire till there wasn't much left to burn. Each sequential step surprised us. Then one day we woke up, and everything was gone.

Soft flesh is eaten by hard teeth.

Why is it beautiful that humanity keeps coming back? So does herpes.

My friend "M" says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can't smile, because your lips have rotted off.