You … You had always made the future feel safe. As long as you were in it too, beside me, I could be okay.

You were a stone wall, a fort in high, unreachable trees, an island, my own island, that no boat could reach.

You look so good," I say, and s***! Oh god, that's not what I meant. S***! "It looks good. The book.

Have you worked here long?" Sebastian asks. Just a few months," I say. "Do you come here a lot?" As if you don't know, Jade. I used to come every day, or, you know, when I could, I'd bring Bo after work. Or just myself." At night sometimes. You'd climb the fence. You'd watch the stars. You'd tilt back your head and look at the sky. You'd think it over, whatever it was.

Love is ease, love is comfort, love is support and respect. Love is not punishing or controlling. Love lets you grow and breathe. Love's passion is only good passion -- swirling-leaves-on-a-fall-day passion, a-sky-full-of-magnificent-stars passion -- not angst and anxiety. Love is not hurt and harm. Love is never unsafe. Love is sleeping like puzzle pieces. It's your own garden you protect; it's a field of wildflowers you move about in both freely and together.

We should not give away a moment to anyone who does not deserve it.

It took me years to figure out that upset was upset, and tumultuousness was not the same thing as passion. Love isn't drama.