He stood for a moment, letting the music wash over him, his right arm moving in concert with the bass. The music filled him, made him complete, and whole.

The romantics of growing old with someone were shattered by the realities of the flesh incrementally dying.

This was seduction at its highest – the simple act of memory. When someone remembers what you’ve said, has actually taken the time to listen and stow away the information for recall later, well, that was beyond flattery. That’s what a real relationship was about.

She was getting tired of people telling her she was all right. Obviously she wasn’t. She was far from all right. She was broken.

She was better off with people who couldn’t talk back. There were no awkward moments with the lifeless. No worry about how they perceived her.

Sam grinned. “Probably an acrotomophiliac. You know, less is more.” Taylor wrinkled her brow. “What the hell does that mean? It doesn’t sound good.” “Means he’s sexually attracted to amputees.

Women were strange creatures when it came to attraction, that much she knew. They got territorial, even with their male friends that they had no amorous intentions toward.

Nightfall signaled her brain to collapse in on itself, to allow the doubt and pain to rule.

The first flakes of snow began to fall as she got to the back entrance, dancing lightly in the air. She stopped to watch their intricate ballet. Now this, this was real. Abundant water vapor causing small particles of ice, too heavy to be contained in the clouds, to fall to the earth. Science. Incontrovertible evidence. But at one time, it must have seemed like magic.

We must dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.” – May Sarton.