If the Sun Never Sets (If Love, #2)

by Ana Huang

The truth was, everyone was broken. People weren’t shells, hard and glossy like the statues you found in museums. They were messy mosaics, compromised of glittering pieces of love and jagged shards of heartbreak. The lucky ones found someone whose broken edges fit perfectly with theirs, like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle.

Two imperfects, holding each other up in the storm. And it would feel so safe, so right that they’d get addicted to the illusion of completeness, forgetting that one wrong move could throw them out of sync, and the other’s jaggedness would slice them so deep, they’d bleed from the inside out.

Whatever your fear is or however far you fall—you’ll survive. And I’ll be there to catch you.”

But contrary to popular belief, those ugly parts didn’t detract from a person. No, they made them whole, and there was nothing in this world more beautiful than completeness, nothing more breathtaking than knowing someone loved every last bit of you—including the pieces you hated about yourself.

“You can keep my heart.” She blinked up at Blake, trying to feel something beyond the numbness spreading through her limbs. She couldn’t. “But I no longer want yours.”

“It’s still yours, you know. It will never belong to anyone else. Not in this life, and not in the next thousand lives. You have my heart until the earth stops spinning and the stars turn to dust. You can love it or hate it or forget all about it. But it will always be yours.”

The most painful part of loving someone was knowing you couldn’t live without them but not being able to live with them, either.