Black is too morbid; red will set them on edge; pink is too juvenile; orange is freakish
Over the past week, I’ve accepted that I will never love Julian as much as I loved Alex. But now that idea is overwhelming, like a wall between us. I will never love Julian like I love Alex.
It will kill me, it will kill me, it will kill me. And I don't care.
This is what we are made for: promises, pledges, and sworn oaths of obedience.
We are all punished for the lives we have chosen, in one way or another.
Live free or die. Four words. Thirteen letters. Ridges, bumps, swirls under my fingertips. Another story. We cling tightly to it, and our belief turns it to truth.