The Memory Librarian: And Other Stories of Dirty Computer

Grandpapa and even Artis’s friends believed that New Dawn was the most dangerous thing in their world. But Artis knew that wasn’t true. Hope was. Having too much, having too little. Trying to work out that invisible balance so you don’t get crushed but also don’t float away was labor Artis didn’t always feel strong enough to do.

How much more power will she need before she can feel safe from everyone moving in ways she doesn’t expect and cannot control, even as she loves them?

Return whole, my children, your eyes a constellation of stars. Full of the knowledge that I love you, that we are what we carry—the years, the nights, and the seconds, and all the spaces in between. It flows through us, flows from within us. This love cannot be stopped. It grows—and it must be free. The time to dream is a sacred thing, Trell. It heals, lifts us up. Ola, every child, not just my own, needs it. Our world demands it. You’ve got to dream a future before you can build a future. Together, let us begin this dreaming awake.

In the end, a simple happiness is better than a complex disillusion.

the quotidian beauty of a sunset bleeding behind a kudzu-choked highway barrier;

Dreams aren't memories. They are memories' voices.

Some part of you always remembers.

how every inch of life’s purpose was to find love, freedom, and your people. To embrace your own weirdness and other folks’ wildness.

Dreams aren’t memories. They are memories’ voices.

You don’t need to control everything.

The social majority—those who were already so broadcasted, so commonly seen, that they felt the Dawn’s sight was the same as their own—for them, there was safety. The perception of it. The assumption that they had nothing precious, no different or unusual coding, to conceal. That they fit.

Grandpapa and even Artis's friends believed that New Dawn was the most dangerous thing in their world. But Artis knew that wasn't true. Hope was. Having too much, having too little. Trying to work out that invisible balance so you don't get crushed but also don't float away was labor Artis didn't always feel strong enough to do. It hurt too much to hope sometimes. Better to just be, take whatever comes as gracefully as you can, 'cuz it's coming anyway, whether you want it or not.

Some days Artis had to remind himself that his dad actually existed, that his mother was not a phantom. Remembering the dead was hard work.

Hearing her name, she gathered herself within the span of normalcy, just barely escaping the extra beat that would have made it weird. "Hey," she said. "I'm good, good.

Then they ducked under the canopy of forest, the others following, and let the dark green radiance embrace them.

Then she picked up her toolbox and walked heavily out of the apartment, closing the front door behind her.