Things will get worse before they get better.

No matter how lonely it makes me, and no matter how wide and horrific the loneliness, at least I remember who I am.

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?

A strange thing, words. Once they're said, it's hard to imagine they're untrue.

We accept gods that don't speak to us. We accept gods that would place us in a world filled with injustices and do nothing as we struggle. It's easier than accepting that there's nothing out there at all, and that, in our darkest moments, we are truly alone.

For males twenty-five is the fatal age. For women it's twenty. We are all dropping like flies.

When I am writing anything in general, I just want to tell the story that exists in my head; I don't try to write a parable or make a point.