Sandra

“her voice suddenly gone as if it had snagged on the mist and was carried off into the failing light, leaving the phone dead in my hand, a warm sliver with the screen fading like some luminous shard from outer space which had traveled across stellar distances at great speed to arrive here in my hand where its glow was now losing its heat, gone”
― Mike McCormack, Solar Bones

“They waited until I was asleep, then roused themselves, exhausted as swimmers, grey between the empty trees. Their hair in tufts, open sores where ears used to be, grubs twisting from their chests. The grotesque remains of incomplete lives, the embodied complexities of desires eternally denied.”
― Anne Michaels, Fugitive Pieces

“The facts of things do not store well. They rot and fall apart. But the stories we tell last and even grow.”
― Ananda Braxton-Smith, Merrow

“When I woke, my anguish was specific: the possibility that it was as painful for them to be remembered as it was for me to remember them; that I was haunting my parents and Bella with my calling, startling them awake in their black beds.”
― Anne Michaels, Fugitive Pieces