We're broken in complementary ways, thus rendering our damage comprehensible to each other.
His lashes, fluttered like butterfly wings. "I could've made you happy, dove." "You did," I whispered
With a polite smile, I decided she was insane.
A divided heart offers a strange sensation.
I’d never known it was possible to love as he did— with complete devotion yet devoid of promises.
You ever have that feeling? Like you’ve known someone your whole life but you don’t know them at all.
I never knew I had the power to hurt him, only that he possessed the power to hurt me.
There’s a hollow where he used to be, and it echoes with self-imposed loss.
It’s easy to do right when everything goes right. But let everything go wrong, and see how difficult it becomes.
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.
Sometimes broken things heal crooked. The pieces didn’t fit anymore.
I’m sick of asking questions everyone else already knows the answers to.
Sometimes when you meet someone, there’s a click. I don’t believe in love at first sight but I believe in that click. Recognition.
Show, not tell, right? Action, not words. You don’t want to hear how sorry I am or how things will be different this time. You want to see it with your own eyes. And until I can show you that, you won’t tell me what I want to hear.
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.
Sometimes it felt as if all happiness came at a price. You could never, ever, have perfection. Life gave you beauty so you could bear the pain.
Now I know there are ways to belong to someone that don’t take anything away. A relationship shouldn’t impose limits—and if it does, then it’s wrong. A lover should help you exceed your potential, not clip your wings.
I’m not a woman you bring home to Mother, pick out china patterns with, or Mary forefend, breed. I’ve seen a chunk of the universe, true, but there’s still so much more to see. I doubt I’ll ever cure this wanderlust, and I’m content with dedicating my life to failing to sate it... He’s never going to sit at my feet and write me poems, which is good because I hate poetry, except dirty ones that rhyme.
As I dive between the legs of a big Gunnar, I see Mair wind up and slam her shockstick hard as she can between the V of another guy’s thighs. Falling, he makes a noise that I can’t say I’ve heard a human utter before, sort of like I imagine a puppy would sound being put through a juicer.
Mother Mary of Anabolic Grace, we got Teras incoming?” He levels angry blue eyes on me. “You’re a hex, lady, dark luck, powerful bad juju, ken?” “Only to people who try to kidnap me,” I tell him sweetly, and March snorts, so I feel obliged to add, “Or rescue me…” And then Dina makes a pfft sound. “Or who travel with me…” My gaze sweeps around the darkened interior, trying to find an ally, but nobody will hold my eyes more than two seconds, it seems. “Fine, frag you all, I’m dark juju, bad luck, and you’re all doomed.
Because it takes more courage to heal the world's hurts than to inflict them.
Every army has a beginning, no matter how humble.
Not just when its easy. All the time.
His face held a certain impassivity; you see it in all waiters and valets. They might want to jam a knife through your left eye socket, but you'd never know it from their expression. Working retail, I've acquired a similar look myself.
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