And when Eleanor smiled, something broke inside of him. Something always did.
I think I can live without you, but it won't be any kind of life.
Holding Eleanor's hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive.
Park was never going to love her more than he did on the day they said goodbye. And she couldn’t bear to think of him loving her less.
Everytime, he breaks your heart. And everytime, he expects me to pick up the pieces.
Things she knew now, that she hadn't known two hours ago: Park was covered with skin. Everywhere.