One day you will kiss a man you can't breathe without, and find that breath is of little consequence.
Nobody looks good in their darkest hours. But it's those hours that make us what we are.
Jericho Barrons just told me he loves me.
Some people bring out the worst in you, others bring out the best, and then there are those remarkably rare, addictive ones who just bring out the most. Of everything.
You're Mac, and I'm Jericho. And nothing else matters.
He pulls me around and kisses me. "You're Mac," he says. "And I'm Jericho. And nothing else matters. Never will. You exist in a place that is beyond all rules for me. Do you understand that?" I do. Jericho Barrons just told me he loves me.
Evil is a completely different creature, Mac. Evil is bad that believes it's good.
Its our actions that define us. What we choose. What we resist. What we're willing to die for.
He lives. I breathe. I want. Him. Always. Fire to my ice. Ice to my fever. -Mac
Dying is overrated. Human sentimentality has twisted it into the ultimate act of love. Biggest load of bullshit in the world. Dying for someone isn't the hard thing. The man that dies escapes. Plain and simple. Game over. End of pain...Try living for someone. Through it all-good, bad, thick, thin, joy, suffering. That's the hard thing.
How could they let me grow up like that—happy and pink and stupid?
When you know who I am. Let me be your man.
One day you do meet a man who kisses you and you can’t breathe around it and you realize you don’t need air. Oxygen is trivial. Desire makes life happen. Makes it matter. Makes everything worth it. Desire is life. Hunger to see the next sunrise or sunset. To touch the one you love. To try again.
I'm not the hero, Mac. Never have been. Never will be. Let us be perfectly clear: I'm not the antihero, either, so quit waiting to discover my hidden potential. There's nothing to redeem me.
Love knows no right or wrong. Love is. Only is.
Some things are sacred. Until you act like they're not. Then you lose them
Time heals. No, it doesn't. At best, time is the great leveler, sweeping us all into coffins. We find ways to distract ourselves from the pain. Time is neither scalpel nor bandage. It is indifferent. Scar tissue is not a good thing. It is merely the wound's other face.
One day you do meet a man who kisses you and you can't breathe around it and you realize you don't need air.
I didn’t ask. Some things are better left unsaid. He looked at me and I shivered. I never get enough of him. Never will. He lives. I breathe. I want. Him. Always. Fire to my ice. Ice to my fever. Later we would go to bed, and when he rose over me, dark and vast and eternal, I’d know joy.
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