“You hate that you love me?” I whispered. “Absolutely. I loathe how much I love you, Clara. I hate color, and yet I’m obsessed with everything you wear. I don’t like to eat sugar, but I’ll devour anything you put on a plate in front of me. I’m exhausted, but I’ll stay awake thinking about you just to catch one more thought of you running through my mind. What is that? Love? Because I loathe it. Loathe that I know I can’t live without it, that I want it for the rest of my life with every fiber of my being.”
