Ann Aguirre
Ann Aguirre
Ann Aguirre is an American author of speculative fiction. She writes urban fantasy, romantic science fiction, apocalyptic paranormal romance, paranormal romantic suspense, and post-apocalyptic dystopian young-adult fiction...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionAuthor
CountryUnited States of America
knows ifs
I always have someplace else I’d rather be, even if I don’t know where that is, yet.
missing accepting creatures
But I miss the woman I was, even as I learn to accept the new creature I’ve become.
unique love-is giving
Each love is unique. Special. Giving to one never takes away from another.
selfish mean leaving
Right now, I wish I’d stayed because I want you at my side. That sounds pretty selfish, but I don’t mean it that way. You just never needed me that way; I said it to you once as I was leaving—that you love me, but you don’t need me. You don’t lean. But I admire that about you, and I could use some of your strength right now.
crazy heart soul
For I need this scar over my heart to remind me. Crazy as it sounds, if I can bear the wound on my body, it lessens what I must carry on my soul. How he knew that about me, I cannot fathom.
pain self talking
So I make no effort to hide my pain. I don’t ever put it all on display like this—but for today and all the rest of the days of the trial, I must. My every flinch, every flicker of pain, will be magnified a hundred times over, then dissected by the pundits and talking heads. But I’m told it’s necessary; the world needs to see me vulnerable and wounded. I cannot appear not to care or to lack remorse, but that removes a crucial component of my self- defense mechanism and leaves me bleeding for all the world to see. I suppose that’s rather the point.
dream soul love-each-other
. . . and I don’t expect him to suborn his life into mine any more than I would change my dreams for him. We’re not one soul, one being, however much we love each other.
choices promise matter
For love to flourish there has to be trust. Promises don’t matter as much as personal choice.
block legs arms
We stood back-to-back, blocking and striking in harmony; sometimes it felt like his arms and legs were an extension of me. I could count on him to keep them off me from behind.
pushing mets persons
He is not the same person as when we met, but . . . neither am I. Time has refined us, but instead of pushing us apart, we’re closer than ever.
mets
I never belonged anywhere until I met you.
hate dirty writing
He's never going to sit at my feet and write me poems, which is good because I hate poetry, except dirty ones that rhyme.
sorry eye want
Show, not tell, right? Action, not words. You don’t want to hear how sorry I am or how things will be different this time. You want to see it with your own eyes. And until I can show you that, you won’t tell me what I want to hear.
hate jigsaw-puzzles pieces
There’s a reason I hate jigsaw puzzles. I don’t have the patience to find all the border pieces, especially when they’re all the same shade of gray.