But my edges were all spiky and barbed from past lies and deceit, and try as I might, I couldn’t quite fit into the stencil he’d created. My outlines were a little too rough for that smooth silhouette.

I was angry at him and he was angry at me. Angry that I couldn’t be the girl from his songs who just gives and gives until there’s nothing left to her of any substance.

There’s a reason his voice sounds so heart-wrenchingly beautiful. When you slice yourself open and bleed into your music, every song contains a pulse that beats to the rhythm of your heart, and everyone listening can feel it.

Try as I might, I can’t justify getting caught up in controversy, whether it’s true or not. I can’t allow myself to be swallowed up again. There’s a chance I’d never find my way back out.

What kind of guy makes Brussels sprouts if he’s not trying to get laid?

In the past year, I’ve felt so much it’s like I’ve come crawling out on the other side of a storm, a refugee amongst devastation. There are things you don’t have to experience twice, and feeling all that is one of them.

I didn’t know how much those secrets weighed until I set them free.

Because for once, I wanted to be the one to pour gasoline on the fire and watch as it engulfed me. I wanted to be consumed by something that would leave no room for distractions.

We’re as close as we can get and yet, if you fused our skin, bound our cells and bones, I’m still not sure it would feel close enough.