More than most, I know the pain of surviving.
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.
Sometimes the past needed to stay buried; it was the only way you could move on. And sometimes you had to dig it up, because that too was the only way.
I felt like the blonde in every horror movie who hears a noise in the basement and goes to investigate alone. Sometimes you smell the stupid all around you, but you step in it anyway.
If I ever win you," he said, anger bright in his pale eyes, "it will be because you want me more. Not because he's gone. I'm nobody's second best.
Most people can’t stomach silence; it provides too much opportunity to think about things they prefer to avoid.
My skill didn't lie in planning battles, only in fighting them.
I’ve lost so many people. Some I left on purpose and never looked back. Some were taken from me, and I never said good-bye.
Time is fluid, so the moments where everything feels perfect pass in a wink, and those where you're on your knees in despair drag on like the death of a thousand cuts.
You don’t know what it’s like to be alone until you’ve had someone inside your head.
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.
People try to make sense of things, and if they don’t know the answers, they make them up,because for some, a wrong answer is better than none.
Once exposed, a secret loses all its power.
Sometimes I miss the old me.
There were different kinds of strength. I knew that now. It didn't always come from a knife or a willingness to fight. Sometimes it came from endurance, where the well ran deep and quiet. Sometimes it came from compassion and forgiveness.
You don’t need to be afraid of falling // when there’s someone around to catch you.
A good huntress respected her partners instincts, even if he was socially ignorant.
I’d never known it was possible to love as he did— with complete devotion yet devoid of promises.
A divided heart offers a strange sensation.
He has to take me as I am, broken bits and all.
We find heroes, not on battlefields, but in hospitals that tend the injured. Sometimes I think it’s easier to fight than it is to heal.
He went in, lean and deadly, and ended the creature with a lightning-fast spike of his blade. It shrieked, likely altering the rest. The death call carried like a mournful song.
Through the damp fabric of my coverall, bundled in my blanket, I feel naked. Raw. He sees more than I want, more than I can bear. It’s like standing before him ... while he stares at my scars, pitiless and unmoved.
Sometimes you find your heroes in the unlikeliest places.
Possessiveness isn’t love. I’m not even sure it qualifies as an emotion.
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