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“All of this you’re feeling,” he says, “it’s like a person running beside you, shouting shit in your ear to tear you down. But it can only change the way you run if you choose to believe it.”
“You already make everything better,” I tell him. “And you’re the only one who ever has.”
and do you know how hard it is to have to look at you?” My voice grows raspy and I pause because I refuse to cry over him again. “To look at you and know that you made your choice and you didn’t choose me?”
“I’d give anything to change your past, but at the same time it’s made you who you are,” I tell her. “The things you think are so terrible? I love those things. That fragile part of you, the way you freeze when someone tries to hug you or compliment you or acts like they care—I can’t separate that from everything else now, so I love all of it. I should have told you that a long time ago.”
