I don’t think I’ve ever really had a home before, not until I met you.
I get that we can’t be together. And it’s not like I’m so weak-willed that the simple act of saying hello to me will cause me to jump your bones in the hall.
You can’t let doubt or fear or guilt eat away at you. You are good and you need to remember that above all else. Love is stronger than hatred, and you are made of love.
When I said it aloud, it sounded terribly creepy, which is why I had said it aloud.
You’re killing me here! You are far more dangerous than I am!
The only consent hinge in life is that everyhin is changing. And that’s a little scary, but it means that hints can’t be bad or hard forever.
In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a lover not a fighter.
He stepped into my room with one graceful move, as if entering through bedroom windows was nothing out of the ordinary.
As a rule, I don’t enjoy being tossed into closets and having the door shut on my face, but I knew he was protecting me.
I tended to hate people that hit me in the head without warning.
If Peter Pan had been real, he would’ve gone mad and killed everyone in Neverland.
There was something almost painful about that, the intensity of being so vulnerable and so intimate with him.
You can bite me if you want. I want you to.
His lips brushed against mine. Delicately at first, almost testing to see if this was real.
I look at you because I can’t look away.
He kissed me desperately, like a drowning man and I was his oxygen.
How had it turned into this? I had lived my whole stupid life without him, and now I could barely make it through the hour.
I looked at him like he was an idiot, but he didn’t notice. Or maybe he got it so often, he thought that was how people looked at him.
This was good, except that now I had two crazed, burning zombies standing between me and the exit, plus another one that wasn’t on fire. I had not thought this plan through at all.
I hate that you do this to me. I hate how crazy you make me. I hate you! – Wendy.