Talking to her is like coming home and finding the furniture in every room rearranged. The same pieces are there, the same sense of comfort, but nothing is exactly the where you'd expect.
Forget math and peotry. Especially poetry.
You're worth so much more than anything I can give you. If you can't believe that right now, believe in me.
Maybe that's what love is. Giving others the power to hurt you and trusting they'll use it to heal you instead.
I'm honor-bound not to struggle with this since you just retrieved it all by yourself. Please do me the courtesy of pretending this is hard for you as well.
You know how it feels to think you've ruined everything. You're hoping if my story has a happy ending there's hope for yours too...
Death is an insatiable creature with greedy hands.