Even the human race can't claim to be natural anymore. We are fake, dying things. How fitting that I would end up in this sham of a marriage.

I'm suddenly finding it hard to know the difference between nightmares and consciousness.

Give me time" "For you, always.

I stare at her collarbone that's framed with lace, the hollow of her throat, her shoulders that rise with each rise with the weight of her next breath. We're fragile things. Our bones show through our skin. What would any god want with us?

Sometimes we don't know how afraid we are until we've reached a strange door and we don't know what will be on the other side.

Eventually I realize that I am holding on to him just as tightly as he holds on to me. And here we are: two small dying things, as the world ends around us like falling autumn leaves.

It was a terrible decision, and I confess I'd make it again.