I guess she grew tired of me. And let me know with the sharp end of a knife. But that's love. AMETHAR: That's love.

ㅤ⊱ closing her office door as to keep the noise down, she begins to quietly play a record. it's old and a bit scratchy, but the songs are still preserved — slow and peaceful love songs from times long past. she settles back into her chair with an exaggerated sigh.

In my dreams, I've curbed this place, the By-and-By and by and by, I cruised from temple top to agitprop pinnacle, a stop at each Divine: retired to statue, retired to shape, retired to tired symbol of then—

" Another day, another... hrm. Another something. "

Many trans people have no idea how much pain they are in until they find small bits of relief.

I know history. There are many names in history, but none of them are ours.

" Ah. "

so pull up a chair and sit beside the fire. it's quiet out here, at last, you can listen to the choir.

I feel like I’m always searching for someone, or something.

It would be a hundred times easier If we were young again, but as it is—and it is—we're just two slow dancers, last ones out.

Never presume August is a safe or reliable time of year. It is the season of reversals, when birds no longer sing in the morning and the evenings are made of equal parts golden light and black clouds.

" A smell so blissfully sweet and yet souringly overwhelming. " ㅤ ㅤ⊱ a flowerpot quietly scraped against the wood of Ada's desk, guided by her fingertips — the flowers inside ill more than wilted husks. ㅤ ㅤ⊱ her chest rose and fell in a heavy puff, head slumped to her arm.

I always knew the world moves on. I just didn't know it would go without me.