max-and-fang

“Instead, Fang wound a strand of Max’s tangled hair around his fingers, breathing it in, saying good-bye. But it didn’t smell like Max anymore. It, like everything else in this world, smelled like ash.”

“If you’ve ever loved someone like I did, if they made you crazy and happy and exasperated and elated and if you wanted to hold them and shake them and sometimes kick them and if, after all that, they were like part of your family and part of your soul…
Imagine seeing that feather. Imagine what that felt like.”

“I was horrified by my decision, but I knew that even if Fang were a zombie, I would want him, and I would take care of him and protect him for the rest of my life.”

“I turn to the love of my life. My first love, and my last love. The love I accepted a dear friend’s sacrifice for.”

Did you know that wasn’t me, the other Max?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Right away.”
“How?” I persisted. “We look identical. She even had identical scars and scratches. She was wearing my clothes. How could you tell us apart?”
He turned to me and grinned, making my world brighter. “She offered to cook breakfast.