I’ll always want him. Until every sun goes dark in every sky, until I am nothing more than long-forgotten cosmic dust, I will want him. And even then I suspect my particles will long for his.
We’re broken in complementary ways, thus rendering our damage comprehensible to each other.
He is not the same person as when wemet, but . . . neither am I. Time has refined us, but instead of pushing us apart, we’re closer than ever.
. . . 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.
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.
We stand a professional distance apart, as if I can’t feel his pain screaming in my head. Mine amplifies his; they share a joint sound—that of glass breaking—until they swell to a crescendo that deafens.
What you said about the sweetest pain? That fits us.
You can lie to yourself about all kinds of things. Until you can’t, anymore. Until reality pounds a hole through your fantasy castle and the reality check must be cashed in.
Pull yourself together. People among the living still need your help, and I haven’t given you permission to quit.
I knew exactly how he felt because I had walked in his shoes, wary and distrustful, unable to believe anybody could care about me without asking for something in return.
Lessons in magic from a mysterious boy who belonged to a hidden Ferisher court called the Wild — I couldn’t think of anything that would horrify my parents more. Therefore, the proposition became exponentially more enticing.
Because it takes more courage to heal the world’s hurts than to inflict them.
His smile is too beautiful for this world, and I am dying of love.
For love to flourish there has to be trust. Promises don’t matter as much aspersonal choice.
Age had nothing to do with how well my brain worked.
This guilt is a joke, and it’s exhausting to watch you martyr yourself.
Does changing for the better absolve you of all the wicked shit you did b
I refused to show my fear, lock it down, Huntress.
Hey, that’s why they invented the Internet, hermanita. To talk about weird shit and download porn.
But it was like a dance across a field strewn with razors, and I bled with every step I took.
I missed you.” I didn’t mean to tell him so, even if it was true. Admitting need felt like weakness; it demonstrated dependence and vulnerability.
I resolved, then, deep in my soul never to let him go. I’d be the one never to leave him. I’d prove to him that some things could be for always- that we could be.
My skill didn’t lie in planning battles, only in fighting them.
Realistically, it’s a risk, I suppose, but in this day and age, you almost have to choose between freedom, which can devolve into chaos, and security, which can become a pair of shackles.
Not to wish too hard for a shift in circumstances since it never happens as you imagine.
I remember when I was a kid, I could never find anything positive about chubby girls. If a girl was pudgy in books, she wasn’t okay. She couldn’t be happy or make friends unless she lost weight.