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He made himself the cure, which wouldn’t have been necessary if he hadn’t also created the disease.
Life felt like hell because we expected it to feel like heaven.
“Because pain in the body quiets the pain in the head. It feels good, like a kill switch for your brain.
“Because I can’t feel guilt, sadness, anger, or shame as strongly as I can feel fear anymore, and there’s no stronger fear than when I scare myself.”
“The only part of me anyone can ever hurt is my heart, and there’s no one on the planet my heart is more out of reach of than you,”
I hated him. He was everything bad that happened to me. But he was the only time—other than dancing—that I felt alive, too. Being with him was like dancing. Dancing with death.
Your body can only feel one pain at a time.
Love always hurt.
I’d changed her forever. I’d bent and twisted and broken everything that made her the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me.
“I just wanted to be invisible, and if I couldn’t be invisible, then I just wanted it to end. I was going to run away, because . . .” His sad voice trailed off. “Because the only other way to escape was to end it all.”
“It was pure, and it was a dream. I didn’t want to change you. I just wanted to be a part of it all. Of everything beautiful you were going to do.”
“What’s your tattoo?” I asked quietly, remembering how my friend noticed he had one. He didn’t say anything for a moment, or ask how I knew, but then he answered, “A decaying snowflake.” I raised my eyebrows. A decaying . . . “Why?” I asked. “Because of ‘Winter’ by Walter de la Mare,” he replied softly. “Something still beautiful, even after what I did to her.”
