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Stars would glow brightly on the other side of the glass, beckoning me to make a wish. I always did. They never listened.
The thing is, hope can be a savior, or it can be an executioner.
“I’m already lost,” she says, glancing down at the bud pressed between her thumb and finger. A sprig of new life, waiting to bloom. “I need to go there to come back.”
“Time spent loving another is never time wasted. In fact, I’m apt to believe it’s the only time that truly matters in this life.”
Storms are unpredictable, and I don’t like unpredictable.” “I can understand that,” she says with a nod, tipping her chin skyward. “I guess I like the reminder that not even the sky is ever truly at peace. It’s breakable, just like we are.”
I’m killing him. And he’s bringing me back to life. Somewhere between the two, the perfect balance must exist.
A broken heart doesn’t work the same as a heart unscathed. There are always complications. Poorly stitched holes. Faulty beats.
“Time is relative. Action is what matters. People don’t remember how long it takes for you to do the thing; they just remember if you do it, or if you don’t.”
Even worse, the look in your lover’s eyes when he watches you plummet to the pavement and rupture into a thousand grisly pieces at his feet. It’s a bloodbath, a massacre, a catastrophe. It’s inevitable, though; there’s always a crash. And I think if I’d have known… I never would have tried to fly.
