It's a hard thing, balancing your obligation to the family who supported you, who loves you, and the desires of your heart.

Funny how much things can change in such a short amount of time when you’re being honest about what you want.

You fall for a person, not a type.

I just want her to look at me and know that she's not just beautiful because of the strength she tries to project, but also because of the things she thinks make her look weak.

I just want her to look at me and know that she’s not just beautiful because of the strength she tries to project, but also because of the things she thinks make her look weak.

I'm like a druggie. And he's my drug. Can it last? Or is it, like any addiction, doomed to consume me, body and soul?

My heart burns with anger, but the part of me that’s still his responds to him, still wants to believe there’s hope. It’s the thing I love and hate most about love: Hope dies last.

As I fall asleep in his arms, I wish I hadn’t resisted him all those weeks. Even though on some level I realize it’s because of exactly this; that I knew how much I could feel for this man. That our chemistry both inside the bedroom and out would be like nothing I’ve ever felt. It both excites me and terrifies me in equal measure. I close my eyes and hope for the best.

Believing him isn’t a choice. I have no doubt he means it. He’s spoken to me more plainly than he ever has to demonstrate his veracity. But truth and trust are two different things. And how can I possibly trust him when he kept something this big from me?