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.

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.

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?

I’ve done some hard shit in my life. But letting her leave, with a sense that she may not come back blows it all out of the water.

Falling in love is part choice, part fate. But how do you decide when to stop loving someone?

The price you pay for a man who gets you all worked up in bed is that sometimes he’s gonna get you all worked up other places, and not always in a good way.

A month with her and I’ve found the courage to do what I’ve wanted to for years. I say a prayer that I survive this, so I can see what a lifetime with her would do.

Something inside me breaks. It's that fucking heart I didn't know I had.

Why does anyone love someone? Some things are just meant to be.