There is a string that connects us that is not visible to the eye. Maybe every person has more than one soul they are connected to, and all over the world there are these invisible strings. Maybe the chances that you'll find each and every one of your soulmates is slim. But sometimes you're lucky enough to stumble across one. And you feel a tug. And it's not so much a choice to love them through their flaws and through your differences, but rather you love them without even trying. You love their flaws.

That's why writers write—to say things loudly with ink. To give feet to thoughts; to make quiet, still feelings loudly heard.

Tell me a truth, Senna.""I don't know how," I breath."Then tell me a lie.""I don't love you," I say. I sink beneath the weight of it all.Isaac stirs behind me, and then he is leaning over me, his elbows on either side of my head."The truth is for the mind," he says. "Lies are for the heart. So let's just keep lying.