So, if a city has a personality, maybe it also has a soul. Maybe it dreams.

I watch my heart disappearing into her rosebud mouth. My Valentine's jest somehow seems less funny.

Never mind. There. For good or bad. It's done.

Bod shrugged. "So?" he said. "It's only death. I mean, all of my best friends are dead.

They were having an argument as old and comfortable as an armchair, the kind of argument that no one ever really wins or loses but which can go on forever, if both parties are willing.

I like the stars. It's the illusion of permanence, I think. I mean, they're always flaring up and caving in and going out. But from here, I can pretend...I can pretend that things last. I can pretend that lives last longer than moments. Gods come, and gods go. Mortals flicker and flash and fade. Worlds don't last; and stars and galaxies are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies and vanish into cold and dust. But I can pretend.

As we age, we become our parents; live long enough and we see faces repeat in time.