Writing is the voices inside our heads, our minds, the creativity that exists for us to, from nothing, create alternate worlds, manipulate a personality or to introduce a new kind of love, a new kind of hate or pain or happiness or wonder or... anything we want. Through words, we can do, we can be anything we want.

He kissed her, lay next to her on his bed, pulled her to him. Their foreheads pressed flat against one another, the admiration in their eyes intricately adjoined as one enchanted gaze, he said, "Stay.""Yes," she said. She knew what he meant. Stay with me tonight, sleep in my bed with me tomorrow, but she meant it the other way. Forever.

Anytime his gaze fell upon her, it was always the same. That awful chest pain, so relentless it was like his heart exploded.

I already live like you," Evan lifted his head and looked straight into Christian's eyes. "I'm living like you right now, without her. If she leaves me when I ask her to marry me, or at the altar, or tomorrow, I could still say I tried. I could still say I loved her, that I kissed her, I held her." Evan inhaled a deep breath, his chest swelling with the intensity of it. "Without her, I'll just rot into nothing.

Christian submitted to the roll of his eyes, the churn of his stomach, the break in his knees. He willingly fell out of consciousness, surrendering his heart to the blackness. She was gone. He was gone. Life on earth didn't matter anymore.

It takes two to tango, and if you dance too long, implosion is inevitable.

Let her go,” Brendan said, and Will did. And that was the biggest mistake of his life. Letting her go.