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Sometimes I believe personalities are shaped more by damage than by kindness. Kindness doesn’t sink as deep into your skin as damage does. Damage stains your soul so bad, you can’t scrub it off. It stays there forever, and I feel like people can see all my damage just by looking at me.
Damaged people recognize other damaged people. It’s like a club you don’t want a membership
“Because most of the time, the fun you have that leads to the pain is worth the pain.”
“People sometimes still drown in the shallow end,”
“There are two different kinds of wrong. The wrong that stems from weakness and the wrong that stems from strength. You made that choice because you were strong and needed to survive. You didn’t make that choice because you were weak.”
“What fills the holes in a soul?” Samson’s eyes scroll over my face for a few seconds. “Pieces of someone else’s soul.”
“Don’t worry. Hearts don’t have bones. They can’t actually break.”
Maybe we both grew heart bones.”
His words are digging into me, twisting my insides. My voice comes out in a whisper when I say, “I thought things changed. You said we grew heart bones.”
