She'd loved him as much as he'd let her. More than he'd let her.

Knowing where she was in the world, even if he never touched her, gave him a deep satisfaction, and he half despised himself for being satisfied with so little.

She used to cry roughly three times a year. Now she seemed to cry three times before breakfast. Could that be considered progress?

She wanted him to notice her so much.

He had to fight. That's all he had. Not memories, not experiences, not skills. He had a will. And his will was to fight until he couldn't fight anymore.

You forget your victories, but you remember the losses.

You just have to let people love you in the way they can