Some words were like that. Whole lives attached to them. Ghosts and lives and ecstasy and sorrow.
Memory - that fiend, that cruel enemy of comfort.
All good things come to those who wait.
"Alexander, were you looking for me?" "All my life."
He is just protective over me-” “Not protective, Tania. Consumed.
You are my hand grenade, my artillery fire. You have replaced my heart with yourself.