I don't believe that. I don't believe that there are bad things about you. Only things that you think are bad.

I let my head fall forward into his shoulder, breathing in his scent. "Now what do we do?" He's quiet for a while and I finally lean back to look him in the eyes. He appears conflicted by something and then he sets me down on the ground, lacing his fingers through mine. "Should we see where the wind takes us?" he asks. I stare at my hand in his and then look up at him. "That sounds good to me.

I write the word solitude on my wall and then below it: Do you know me at all? Are my words just air? Is my heart easy to spare?

I sometimes feel like life is just one big test to see how long we can survive.

You can't just change who you are on the outside and expect it to change who you are on the inside.

Once a blooming red rose, full of streaming life in its veins. Now a wilting black petal rupturing with death and pain.

I can handle scars, especially ones that are on the outside." I understand his meaning from the depths of my heart.