Too Late

by Colleen Hoover

He doesn’t make excuses. He doesn’t lie and tell me everything will be okay, because we both know it won’t. He doesn’t make promises he won’t be able to keep like Asa does. He just holds me out of nothing more than a simple desire to bring me comfort—and it’s the first time I’ve ever felt this.

I read once that the difference between an extrovert and an introvert isn’t how you act in a group setting. It’s whether or not those group settings give you fuel or drain you. An introvert can outwardly appear to others to be an extrovert, and vice versa. But it all comes down to how those interactions influence you internally.

That’s all those were. Words. A few simple words strung together, but they held just enough power to physically stop me in my tracks.

“Love is not found. Love finds.”

“Love finds you in the

forgiveness at the tail end of a fight. Love finds you in the empathy you feel for someone else. Love finds you in the embrace that follows a tragedy. Love finds you in the celebration after the conquering of an illness. Love fin...

I feel like I’m standing next to the edge of a volcano.

he’ll always have my sympathy. He’ll never have my heart, and he’ll likely never even have my forgiveness. But I can’t help but give him my sympathy.

The people who die aren’t around to tell us what it felt like when it happened. The people who lived never died to begin with, so they’re unable to describe it.

Love shouldn’t feel like added weight. It should make you feel as light as air.

I guess that’s the difference between being loved the right way and the wrong way. You either feel tethered to an anchor… or you feel like you’re flying.

“You want to crawl in bed with me and watch a movie?” he asks, lifting the blanket.

AHHH SO CUTE

I’m coming for you, Sloan. Whether you think you want me to or not. You promised to love me.

HES FUCKING INSANEE