B.

“Can’t hear… call back… good luck…”
“Nïx, I know you’re faking the static.” She could picture her sister blowing into her fist directly at the receiver. The static abruptly stopped.
“Why?”
“It seemed less rude than the alternative.”
“What’s that?”
Click.”
― Kresley Cole

“The evening sky is gold and vast.
I’m soothed by April’s cool caress.
You’re late. Too many years have passed, -
I’m glad to see you, nonetheless.

Come closer, sit here by my side,
Be gentle with me, treat me kind:
This old blue notebook – look inside –
I wrote these poems as a child.

Forgive me that I felt forsaken,
That grief and angst was all I knew.
Forgive me that I kept mistaking
Too many other men for you.”
― Anna Akhmatova, White Flock

“Living alone,' November whispered, 'is a skill, like running long distance or programming old computers. You have to know parameters, protocols. You have to learn them so well that they become like a language: to have music always so that the silence doesn't overwhelm you, to perform your work exquisitely well so that your time is filled. You have to allow yourself to open up until you are the exact size of the place you live, no more or else you get restless. No less, or else you drown. There are rules; there are ways of being and not being.”
― Catherynne M. Valente, Palimpsest

“You know it's ART, when the check clears.”
― Andy Warhol