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I wonder what it takes to be loveable. Maybe you have to be less crazy or less selfish or less…ruining.
“Art is painful, Layla. It’s potentially dangerous. Explosive. It takes everything from you, sometimes more than you can afford. It’s a beast, and it’s always starving. You feed it and feed it…until you have nothing left.” He sucks in a breath. “But you don’t mind because you’d rather chase the high of creating something than live in darkness. It’s insanity.”
Because I’m a girl who’s not supposed to be the love of someone’s life, not with my selfishness. I was meant to live in the shadows and secrets. I can be Thomas’ secret, for a little while, at least—until I absorb all of his pain and set him free.
“I’m not proud of it. I don’t want to think about it, but you tempt me, Layla, so fucking much. You make me feel crazy.”
You’re in my fucking blood, and I’ll tear apart anyone who dares to fucking touch you.”
We shouldn’t look for love stories where there are none to be found.”
“No, that’s…that’s not right. You’re not beautiful. I think you’re the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.” He licks his lips, his eyes flitting back and forth. “No, not a…not a thing. You’re more than that, Layla. You’re…the poem I can never write. Yeah, you’re the piece of poetry I can never hope to finish, no matter how hard I try.”
Goodbyes aren’t my forte, but I won’t leave you like a coward either.
“You bring them back…my words.”
“A lover is the one who waits,” he paraphrases. “Then, I’ll wait. Forever.”
