I think humans have always been desperate. I think it has always been about doing something awful if it might help, when the only other option is death. Maybe that's what being a parent is supposed to feel like.

Life is much different from the days when there were lilies in my mother’s garden, and all my secrets fit into a paper cup.

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?

I was born into a world that was already dying; I belong to it.

She smiles at our husband as she moves, and he blushes, overcome by her beauty. But I know what her smile really means...Her smile is her revenge.

Rhine. The river that, somewhere out there, has broken free.

It's never right to give up on someone.