I’ve come to ask how you do it. How you feel what I know you’re feeling and then walk away like that.

I miss you Emma." I'm not sure, but it looks like her eyes tear up. "I was fine for months without you," she says, the words hushed and forlorn. "Why does it hurt now?" I'm sighing and shoving a hand through my hair, which I know from experience leaves strands of it stabbing out in numerous directions, defiant and crazy-looking. Maybe crazy is exactly how I feel. "Because now we have hope of something more.

He took one of my hands in his, and I brought the other to his face, wondering how his eyes could look like chipped ice and still warm me to my core.

But why?" "You heard the pay, right? And also, to be near you." Thumbing a tear from my cheek, he added, "Mostly, to be near you.

Some of us can begin to heal the damage people have done to us by escaping the situation, but some of us need more than that. Tattoos make statements that need to be made. Or hide things that are no one’s business. Your scars are battle wounds, but you don’t see them that way. Yet.

If someone had asked, How does this compare to kissing Kennedy? I would have answered, "Who?"

Chivalry isn't really dead you know." "Oh?" "Nah. That guy's just an asshole.