But courage wasn't an absence of fear; it was fighting despite the knot in your stomach.

His lashes, fluttered like butterfly wings. "I could've made you happy, dove." "You did," I whispered

This is not a love story. It is my life, and as such, there is love, loss, war, death, and sacrifice. It's about things that needed to be done and choices made. I regret nothing.

Possessiveness isn’t love. I’m not even sure it qualifies as an emotion.

Time is fluid, so the moments where everything feels perfect pass in a wink, and those where you're on your knees in despair drag on like the death of a thousand cuts.

For love to flourish there has to be trust. Promises don’t matter as much as personal choice.

But the world moves on, even when you don’t want it to, even when change feels like the end of everything. It never stops. That’s harsh and magical and somewhat comforting because nothing is immutable, however much we want it to be. Moments cannot be caught like fossils in amber, ever- perfect,ever-beautiful. They go dark and raw, full of shadows, leaving you with the memories. And the world moves on.