You love me. How simple that sounds and seems and it is, while at the same time it's not. It is hard when you love, to truly love the person and not the ilusion, not the idea you've made up wearing their face clothed in the expectations you have of them.    


Accepting and embracing imperfection, making forgiveness a permanent room in your heart, having the courage to walk in a person's light as well as his darkness, all those things are not easy.

Having your dream of them die is not easy, and yet it must in order to truly love for people are meant to be loved as wholes not just as the pieces of them we adore. People are meant to be loved fully, with forgiveness and abounding grace, for love is the closest thing to the divine that we will ever embrace.

he was gawky and she was gorgeous and he was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. so he walked back to his room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, he was the drizzle and she was the hurricane.

sainthood is a death sentence. alina mourning her own self as she is claimed piece by piece. the hand she dies by is the only choice that remains hers after this loss of a normal life, a normal love. i cannot be your saint anymore, she apologises, cursed to be matryred. but inej never wanted a normal love. she never needed a boy to bring her favourite flowers, she just needed a knife pressed into her hands. you are not cursed, she says, you are loved by me.