...finally her hands, so light, holding his head still and catching all his thoughts and imprisoning them there, in the space that no longer existed between them.

Separating them were two layers of brick, a few inches of plaster, and nine years of silence.

Feeling special is the worst kind of cage a person can build for himself.

[Their love] had burned itself out, like a forgotten candle in an empty room, leaving behind a ravenous discontent.

His scars were hidden and safe in her hand.

The scene was set. All that was required was an action, a cold start, instant and brutal as beginnings always are.

Twin primes: pairs of prime numbers that are close to each other, almost neighbors, but between them there is always an even number that prevents them from truly touching. If you go on counting, you discover that these pairs gradually become rarer, lost in that silent, measured space made only of ciphers. You develop a distressing presentiment that the pairs encountered up until that point were accidental, that solitude is the true destiny. Then, just when you’re about to surrender, you come across another pair of twins, clutching each other tightly.