Here is something we have learned time and again: you need not love everything. You do not have to devote yourself to what you thought you’d enjoy. You can decide, whenever you like, that what you feel is no kind of love.
He had kept the bulk of his music library, which covered every genre from obscure Sub-Saharan drum tracks recorded on cell-phones to honey-tongued R&B to Norwegian black metal, in his parents' basement. It was the only place, he had argued, that could support the weight of it all.
Her dough-tipped fingers sparrow another pale moon into fullness as
a giant beast clouds the thicket of bamboo upon its back
with steam. Enough heat can turn a lake
into air, the sea into some memory
of having once held breath underwater.