"It is after all," she said, "brave, to need somebody."
"It is brave, to willingly open your heart and to invite scrutiny of your soul. And it is brave to show darkness and trust him not to escape with all of your secrets."
"And it is brave to try," she whispered, "when growing up, all they teach you is how to stand alone. So I will let myself need him and I will allow my fingertips to learn the cracks in his ribs. Because even if it kills me I would rather feel daggers than to live in cotton softness.
"After all, what is life without a little death?"
Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #63 (via blossomfully)