Nothing else wounds so deeply and irreparably. Nothing else robs us of hope so much as being unloved by one we love
The moon had risen behind him, the color of a shark's underbelly. It lit the ruined walls, and the skin of his arms and hands, with its sickly light, making him long for a mirror in which to study his face. Surely he'd be able to see the bones beneath the meat; the skull gleaming the way his teeth gleamed when he smiled. After all, wasn't that what a smile said? Hello, world, this is the way I'll look when the wet parts are rotted.
Funny that. We live in islands of Hours and we never seem to have time enough for anything...
