Human beings as a whole cannot be good for long before the bad creeps back in and poisons us again.

There are no safe rooms, no safe truths, no safe secrets to tell.

Instead I just let the silence stretch out between us. It's the only adequate response to what he just told me, the only that does the tragedy any justice instead of patching it hastily and moving on.

She can't possibly be me, though she moves when I move

He kisses me again, more insistent this time, his hands squeezing my waist. His breaths, his body, my body, we are so close there is no difference.

Scrubbing the floor when no one else wanted to was something that my mother would have done. If I can't be with her, the least I can do is act like her sometimes.

My skepticism is strong, but my curiosity is stronger.