what it is is the memory of a dance a song you heard long ago to hear it is to be young again and for once for once you are happy
They’d come for you, and this time they’d come with we
don’t tell me not to drink. not to smoke. not to grieve. if i speak of these things it’s because i have to— but i am not speaking to you.
But it turns out Joy is a house built from the same bricks as Sorrow. Pleasure is a poem, and it uses the same words as Pain.
The second day, I watched you suffer through one of your nightmares, but this one was worse than I’d seen before. You called out another man’s name.
I watched you roll off me and step away from the bed in silence, but when the heat of your body was gone, I wanted it back.
I wanted to take your hand into mine and kiss it.I never dared.
So. Monday. We meet again.We will never be friends—but maybe we can move past our mutual enmity toward a more-positive partnership.
The best sci-fi stories use the fantastical to remind us of the reality of who we are today, the hope of who we may become tomorrow, and the shame of who we were yesterday.
Not your distress. Never that. I loved— I loved being there. Next to you. The pile of limbs that was Us. Together in the same bed. Even if it meant waking up with a few new bruises.
I gave you all my secrets, and you lost them all. You lost a lot of things.But the treasure of it was in the giving, not the keeping.
I’m nothing, here. A lowly surveillance analyst. Being the hero could have meant something good for me. Could have changed my whole
the only thing worse than a bigot is an “ally” who can’t stop congratulating themselves on their enlightenment.
I couldn’t make myself move from the bed. To reach for you. I’d known this moment was coming, and now that it had arrived I found I had no strength in my limbs.Only my voice. Only words.Asking you to stay.
I loved you even when you forgot me.And—for a little while—you loved me back.
I know you’ve forgotten me, but I’ll remember you as long as I live.