So. Monday. We meet again. We will never be friends – but maybe we can move past our mutual enmity toward a more-positive partnership.

I loved you even when you forgot me. And – for a little while – you loved me back.

Fuck that person. Fuck them in the face.With a cabbage.

The outside of you had peeled away, and I could see your insides as clear as my own hand in my lap, aching to reach for you.

The only good Monday is an Almost-Tuesday.

If the worst you can say about an otherwise sweet-natured and pleasant romance novel is that the main characters are just too wholesome to suit you and your bitter, bitter, cat-infested, 7-years-friendless-and-romantically-barren life, you should probably just eat a fucking cupcake and settle in to wait for El Señor to take you away from this place on the wings of angels who all bear a marked resemblance to a young Rob Lowe.

Love is blind.Also: deaf, dumb, and on fire.

All the enormous machines that keep full Citizens comfortable far above us in their glittering towers, all the infrastructure of power, of fuel, of commerce and industry—all of it happens below. Made possible with our hands. With our bodies.With our lives.I would have done anything to escape.I got my chance. I made it out—but the price was loneliness.

You’re safe, here.”“But you are not,” you whispered. “Not ever. I forget. I forget and then I’ll—I could kill you.” When I didn’t reply, you dropped your head again.I almost missed it when you murmured, “I always kill them, in the end.

I know you’ve forgotten me, but I’ll remember you as long as I live.