An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong, #1)

by Jennifer Hartmann

Beautiful things never last, and that’s why fireflies flash.

But, I suppose the trouble with hope is that it’s nothing more than a feeling, and feelings are fleeting. Names are eternal, but feelings don’t last forever. And neither do we.

The thing about me is I’ll often jump to the worst possible conclusion while simultaneously convincing myself that it’s totally fine if the make-believe disaster somehow comes to pass. It’s like I’m trying to get all my ducks in a row before chaos unleashes, so I’m prepared to march through the fire with a megawatt smile and bright-eyed ducks.

Don’t people realize that the phrase ‘Any questions?’ means THE MEETING IS OVER? Nope. People just assume it’s time to ask questions. Idiots.

“I just mean…not everything that makes us hurt needs to be forgotten or banished. It hurts because it mattered. And things that mattered once, will always matter,”

“I think that’s the difference between a disaster and an adventure,” he says. “It’s the people you experience them with.”

We rise and rise and rise, just like this feeling swimming between us, but the trouble with rising is there is always a fall. Sometimes it’s with grace, and sometimes it’s devastating.

Vulnerability is a gateway to attachment. Once someone unearths all your scratched, damaged bits, there’s no hiding them away again. They’re just there, out in the open, every flaw and defect on display. You lose a sense of control—and whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, depends on the person doing the unearthing.

What does happiness look like after inconceivable loss? It doesn’t look the same as it used to, that’s for sure.

“A girl as sweet as you shouldn’t look like sin,” he murmurs, voice full of grit. “Brings me to my goddamn knees.”

Love can be a fulfilling, enchanting thing, but it can be a thief, too. It can drain you, suck you dry, strip you bare.