I can do pain. That’s the easy part of life. It’s everything else, happiness, laughter, love, that’s fucking complicated.

To me, he is art, poetry for the eyes and heart. He is the most terrifyingly beautiful guy I have ever seen. And his scars have to tell a story...

I'm not scared of death, just tired. So fucking tired of being alive yet never fully breathing.

It's what's buried deep inside that frightens me because it's broken, like a shattered mirror.

At least tell me you won? And that the scratches and dings were totally worth it." "Of course. They're always worth it," he says with a hidden meaning that only the two of us could ever understand.

It isn't as important to feel great about all the things we do. But how we feel toward the end when we look back at everything we've done.

Life has been full of evil, and if you don't start asking the right questions, the evil is going to be the end of you.

Carry me away. To where I can breathe. To where my soul can thrive again. To where I can be free. To where I can live again. Give me life. The ability to span my wings. And fly. Not fall. I never want to fall again. So help me survive. Allow me to flourish. And then let me forgive. (tattoo inscription)

No one has ever needed me before because I’ve never let anyone that far in.

I take my time because I love how it feels to carry her, the way she needs me, the way I need to protect her.