He asked for a specific. I gave him a specific. I'm sorry it wasn't puppies.

I could still smell her on my fur. It clung to me, a memory of another world. I was drunk with it, with the scent of her. I'd got too close. The smell of summer on her skin, the half-recalled cadence of her voice, the sensation of her fingers on my fur. Every bit of me sang with the memory of her closeness. Too close. I couldn't stay away.

I hated this. I hated knowing what I wanted and knowing what was right and knowing they weren't the same thing.

Here is another secret: I have no business being fascinated by you.

Overhead, the stars were wheeling and infinite, a complicated mobile made by giants.

Kissing in front of the loveless is an act of cruelty.

Sleep deprivation made his life an imaginary thing, his days a ribbon floating aimlessly in water." - Whelk