Anything that kills hope is a sin

But what if Shakespeare― and Hamlet― were asking the wrong question? What if the real question is not whether to be, but how to be?

I know that all the magic kisses in the world probably couldn't have helped him today. But I would do anything to have been able to give him one.

Every fiction has its base in fact.

Except even at the start, when we were in that can't-get-enough-of-you-phase, there was like some invisible wall between us. At first I tried to take it down, but it took so much effort to even make cracks. And then I got tired of trying. Then I justified it. This was just how adult relationships were, how love felt once you had a few battle scars.

Who says I breathe music? Who says I even breathe?

You don’t share me. You own me.