Times like this, when she slips her hand into mine and holds on tight, and our husband becomes just a shadow in the doorway.

Lovers are weapons, but love is a wound.

It is the face of a girl who has seen the world, who realizes that it hates her, and who hates it in return.

There are so many of us, so many girls. The world wants us for our wombs or our bodies, or it doesn't want us at all.

Give me time" "For you, always.

So how long do you think it’ll be?” he says. “Before the next hurricane comes along to take you home.” “Can I tell you my biggest fear?” I say. “Yes. Tell me.” “That it will be a very windless four years.

I liked just being with you. I liked the way you breathed when you were asleep. I liked when you took the champagne glass from my hand. I liked how your fingers were always too long for your gloves.