Wildalone

There were probably all kinds of broken people. People who had lost a love. A home. A dream. And then there were also the wrecks, those who had gone through a loss more than once, their soul patched and torn and repatched until it resembled a quilt: each square a distinct color, proof that the heart would stay warm, ready for the next breakage.

Parents always worry. That’s part of the predicament.

Darkness doesn't find us on its own, Theia. It is vain. It wants to be invited.

I imagined forgetting. Quiet. Safe. Earth without a pulse, under the protective snow of winter.

For every world, there is an underworld.

types: frumpy graduate students, disheveled professors, too busy or distracted to bother

You should never open a door through which you may not wish to enter.

Friends, acquaintances—one always needs a retinue. But tell me, if some day your heart must sink into its labyrinths, where would your friends be then? Will they descend with you or would you venture in alone?