Your heartbeat is safe and familiar and all things home. It’s the dance of dust on top of the kitchen cupboards, the wind through the rosemary, the brittle flutter of textbook pages, the embrace of a memory until now forgotten.

I focus on the light I can find, and if I can’t find it, I create it.

Sometimes we find we love things we never thought we wanted. And then we regret that we never wanted them at all. It’s the fear of change, I think, and dread of the unknown.

There is something intimate about playing a duet. It’s touching the soul of another person without ever touching the flesh.

Keep the people uneducated and underfed and they’ll lavish praise on you for your generosity when you give them a scrap of bread and a pat on the head. Give them more than the minimum and you might find they’re better at your job than you are, because their skills are revealed when they can focus on more than survival.

We were born of stars and in death we will return to them. Let’s not strive to be black holes in the meantime. Let’s illuminate the world instead of darkening it, instead of tearing it to pieces. Let’s prove we are worthy of being stardust.

There are no stars, no moon, only knots, only the promise of death. Drums cry out in the abyss and then fade with everything else. Even the shadows fade and all that is left is death. We are all dead, we just haven’t figured it out yet.

We are meant to love. We are meant to lose. Love is our promise of a bittersweet end, and our desperate, hopeless struggle not to hurt anyone along the way.

Misunderstood twins run away from weddings. Malevolent twins shoot the groom.

He's dead, but he still chases me. He wrote fear into my mind with ink fashioned from his own blood. His words are stamped upon the shadows, gnats swarming about my shoulders.