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

I hate that she's hurt. I hate that she's been hurt, by me and by others, throughout the entire arc of her life. I barely remember pain, but when I see it in her I feel it in myself, in disproportionate measure. it creeps into my eyes, stinging, burning.

It’s not about keeping up the population, it’s about passing on who we are and what we've learned, so things keep going. So we don’t just end.

Enough white lies can scorch the earth black.

I think we crushed ourselves down over the centuries. Buried ourselves under greed and hate and whatever other sins we could find until our souls finally hit the rock bottom of the universe. And then they scraped a hole through it, into some ... darker place.

I wish people were willing to dig a little deeper than the surface elements of a premise before tossing one story in with another.

How do I appear unthreatening when her lover's blood is running down my chin?