More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
My father always said that people are paper and memories are ink. Little did I know, my book would be dipped in tar, then ripped to shreds.
“Because if you don’t appreciate the journey, how would you enjoy the destination?”
“I always get what I want.” I darted my tongue out, swiping it over my lower lip. “And I want you like I’ve never wanted anything in my life.”
“Do you believe in happy endings?” I croaked, barely audible for Dallas to hear. “Yes.” She clung on to my back tighter. “I live mine every single day. It’s not always perfect, but it sure is happy. We can all write our own happy endings. That’s why hope exists. It’s our pen.”
“I feel like mine ran out of ink.” “Oh, no.” She shimmied us, lips curved up. “You just need to give it a good shake.”
Much to my horror, you could set the entire world aflame and I’d hold your fucking earrings and cheer you on from the sidelines.
The ribs aren’t a cage. They’re the walls to your home.
