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Love is not supposed to be beautiful. It’s supposed to be a raw, gritty struggle that forces you to face the most vulnerable parts of yourself, so that when the good times come, you can savor and enjoy them, fully appreciate what they’re worth. Otherwise, you take it all for granted. —Lana Myers
“He doesn’t love me like I love him,” I say hoarsely. “I love him enough to burn the world to the ground in his name.”
“He’s so pure. So good. So honest and genuine. So gentle and kind. It’s all those qualities that made me fall in love, because he was everything—everything!—I’d always wanted in someone. And he loved me. Yet, I wanted to taint the very things about him that made me fall in love, just so I could selfishly take him to the dark with me and keep him. It was wrong.”
“I can’t let you go,”
I hope she fucking kills every last person with a badge who didn’t come to save her when she was left to bleed out.
They say miracles are past.
I shiver in his arms, realizing how fucked up this token of love would be to the rest of the world. But to me, roses and poems can’t compare.
“So this is real. You and me. We’re actually going to get to be together?” “Not possible for you to get rid of me,” he says, kissing my lips.
“I decided if I could choose anywhere in the world to be, it’d be wherever you were,”
“I love you, Lana Vorhees,” he says, grinning. It’s our own twisted version of perfection.
Most importantly, we dance every night.
Which is why I love Lana so much. She still continues to surprise me, and I’m fairly positive I’d be the one burning the world down if anyone ever tried to take her from me. She calls me a romantic for that. It’s a life I love.
“Happy anniversary, baby.”
