I've always known who I am. I might not work perfectly, or be like them, but that's okay. I know I work in my own way.

It was like when you ripped a piece of paper into two: no matter how you tried, the seams never fit exactly right again.

closed my eyes and listened. It was like music I'd heard all my life, even more than "This Lullaby." All those keystrokes, all those letters, so many words. I brushed my fingers over the beads and watched as her image rippled, like it was on water, breaking apart gently and shimmering before becoming whole again.

Some things are meant to be broken. Imperfect. Chaotic.

I like flaws. I think they make things interesting.

It didn't make you noble to step away from something that wasn't working, even if you thought you were the reason for the malfunction. Especially then. It just made you a quitter. Because if you were the problem, chances were you could also be the solution. The only way to find out was to take another shot.

I had stepped into his arms, showing him my raw, broken heart.