Your lies didn't stop me loving you; your truth hasn't stopped me either.
Heaven has fashioned a knife of irony to stab me with.
The world inside myself is vaster and richer than this paltry plane, peopled with mere galaxies and gods.
I cannot perch among those who think that I am broken.
I had felt the shot coming; I hadn't realized the bow was loaded with this very quarrel, perfectly calibrated to hit him hardest. What part of me had been studying him, stockpiling knowledge as ammunition?
If I could keep a single moment for all time, that would be the one. I became the very air; I was full of stars.