But it seems Ive got this set of scales inside me that I never used to have, or at least I wasnt aware of, and I cant shake the feeling that if I dont try to keep them balanced, Ill lose something I wont be able to get back.

And when he did that, my hands curled into fists because I thought about touching his face like maybe I could catch joy in my hands and hold it.

A fecking flamethrower! Why didn't I think of that? Best I came up with was a measly hair dryer.

You want to believe in black and white, good and evil, heroes that are truly heroic, villains that are just plain bad, but I've learned in the past year that things are rarely so simple. The good guys can do some truly awful things, and the bad guys can sometimes surprise the heck out of you.

He was sexual in a way that made women think of deeply repressed fantasies therapists and feminists alike would cringe to hear tell of.

One day you do meet a man who kisses you and you can't breathe around it and you realize you don't need air.

I didn’t ask. Some things are better left unsaid. He looked at me and I shivered. I never get enough of him. Never will. He lives. I breathe. I want. Him. Always. Fire to my ice. Ice to my fever. Later we would go to bed, and when he rose over me, dark and vast and eternal, I’d know joy.