Love and guilt sometimes taste the same, you know

It wasn't my first mutilation, but it was one of my best.

And while he loves humans (he was born of one, lived and died as one), what they forget is that he loves them as a god does, which is to say, with a taste for suffering.

The worst part of embodiment is being unseen.

Remembering is the death of mercy.

It wasn’t me,” I said. “I don’t know what happened.” If you don’t know what happened, how do you know it wasn’t you?

I often wonder if I died in the best possible way - in the arms of the one who loved me the most, wearing a skin that was true.

I would say it was too late, but time has stopped meaning what it used to. I don't mind anymore. I see how things work now, from this side. I was born and I died. I will come back. Somewhere, you see, in the river of time, I am already alive.

I know many people survive, but I also think people glorify resilience a little too much, forgetting that the fragile ones simply die as the world walks on over their bones.

...if just this terrified you - the tip of a feather - how am I supposed to open up entire wings?