“How would you know if you haven’t even tried?” “Because people like me—people like my father—we don’t love. We don’t know how to. Instead we obsess, to the point of making ourselves sick over someone else.” He teases the chain of my bracelet, and goose bumps spread up my arm from a simple brush of his thumb across my pulse point. “Love is obsession. They go hand in hand.” “No.” He shakes his head. “Love is good. It’s pure. What goes on in my head…it’s the complete opposite.”
