Insurgent (Divergent, #2)

by Veronica Roth

but I tense up when he asks it, worried that he’ll somehow see into my mind.

But when he touches me like he can’t bear to take his hand away, I don’t wish I was any different.

“Let the guilt teach you how to behave next time,”

I didn’t trust him to love me despite the terrible things I had done. I don’t trust anyone to do that, but that isn’t his problem; it’s mine.

I can’t tell him I need him. I can’t need him,

“No matter how long you train someone to be brave, you never know if they are or not until something real happens.”

We both have war inside of us. Sometimes it keeps us alive. Sometimes it threatens to destroy us.

I think we cry to release the animal parts of us without losing our humanity.

Grief is not as heavy as guilt, but it takes more away from you.

Maybe I was afraid to trust him with something so personal as my devotion. Or afraid that I did not know what it was to love someone. But now I think the scary thing was not saying it before it was almost too late. Not saying it before it was almost too late for me.