Men always want to be remembered whereas women realize that requires being dead.

I admired Stalkers style. He was incredibly fast using two small blades strapped to the backs of his hands. Slash slash slash. Fighting him you wouldn’t die of one great wound but instead bleed out slowly surprised to find yourself weak and dying after a thousand cuts.

Life…never gave me a chance to be soft.

I never belonged anywhere until I met you.

For I need this scar over my heart to remind me. Crazy as it sounds, if I can bear the wound on my body, it lessens what I must carry on my soul. How he knew that about me, I cannot fathom.

For peace to take hold, one person must first stop fighting.

He has to take me as I am, broken bits and all.