More than most, I know the pain of surviving.
It’s what you do that counts, not what you consider doing.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Most people can’t stomach silence; it provides too much opportunity to think about things they prefer to avoid.
Don’t let them see you weak.
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.
My skill didn't lie in planning battles, only in fighting them.
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.
Sometimes I miss the old me.
Once exposed, a secret loses all its power.
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.
Each love is unique. Special. Giving to one never takes away from another.
But the world moves on, even when you don't want it to, even when change feels like the end of everything. It never stops.
We stood back-to-back, blocking and striking in harmony; sometimes it felt like his arms and legs were an extension of me. I could count on him to keep them off me from behind.
He was the heat of a fire and the sweetness of the moon I'd only just met.
The whole world is like Whitewall's razors I burst out. It cuts us, and we bleed but there's no purpose to it.
He's earned a lifetime of peace and happiness, but some people never get what they deserve. That's why there are saints in gutters and sadists in palaces.
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.
Love sounded terrible if it made you so weak, you couldn't survive with out it.
I know you have bad news,” I say softly. “I’m ready for it.” But that’s not true. One is never ready. You just lie and say you are and hope you can take the hit on the chin without going down.
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