There's the bullshit you know that you know; the bullshit you don't know and know you don't know; and the bullshit you just think you know but really don't.

The girl sleeping and the finisher, willing himself to finish her.
Why didn't he finish her?
Why couldn't he finish her?

You know how sometimes you tell yourself that you have a choice, but really you don't have a choice? Just because there are alternatives doesn't mean they apply to you.

We'd stared into the face of Death, and Death blinked first. You'd think that would make us feel brave and invincible. It didn't.

Is this how humanity waves good-bye?
Hell no.

Nothing makes us love something more than the loss of it.