The void is my friend.
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Mostly what Cyrus felt was empty. A crushing hollowness, which governed him. He should have died on the plane with his mother, but he’d been left home. With his father now dead, Cyrus had no parents left to worry over him. What was left of his life had no intrinsic meaning, he knew, since such meaning could only be shaped in relation to other people.
page 54, Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar
How strange a world, how strange an existence, that one’s equal must argue for one’s equality, that one’s equal must hold a station that allows airing of that argument, that one cannot make that argument for oneself, that premises of said argument must be vetted by those equals who do not agree.
page 52, James by Percival Everett
I can’t be normal, so I’ll be something else.
page 144, Death of the Author by Nnedi Okorafor
Fathers leave in all sorts of ways. Some of them leave in the dark. Some leave only in their heads, while their bodies remain, staring at the world around them forever distantly. Others fade out over time, like an old photo rubbed raw.
page 190, The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez
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​Many, gone in an instant.
