Once you get below the floor of our personal identities, we're all connected. Perhaps that's why we can move into others' lives.

I was tired of men. Hanging in doorways, standing too close, men who made you love them then changed their minds.

I watched her for a long time, memorizing her shoulders, her long-legged gait. This was how girls left. They packed up their suitcases and walked away in high heels. They pretended they weren't crying, that it wasn't the worst day of their lives. That they didn't want their mothers to come running after them, begging their forgiveness, that they wouldn't have gone down on their knees and thanked god if they could stay.

My hatred gives me strength.

Dawn tinted the darkness like water ink.

Love could never bloom in a concrete block room.

She wanted to wake up like Dorothy and see Michael's face peering over the side of the bed, laughing. WHY, YOU JUST HIT YOUR HEAD. But it was not a dream and there was no Kansas and he was never coming back.