I could die in this bed with him right now, wrapped in his arms and I would never know that I had died.

It’s like irresistible poison: I’m mesmerized by the way it’s making me feel though it has the potential to crush my soul and I drink it down anyway.

Our story is over, yes, but our journey isn't, because we'll always live on the edge until the day we die.

Heart always wins out over the mind. The heart, although reckless and suicidal and a masochist all on its own, always gets its way.

You’re the world to me,” I whisper onto her lips. “I hope you never forget that.” “I’ll never forget,” she whispers back.. “But if I ever do, for whatever reason, I hope you’ll always find a way to remind me.” ...“Always.

Coincidence is just the conformist term for fate.

She sticks her tongue out at me and crosses her eyes. Not sure why that made me want to do her in the backseat, but to each his own, I guess.