Paper Hearts (Hearts #2)

And I say to you, Mia Bennett—my photographer, my eyes, the girl of my dreams, the villain in my nightmares—that everything I owe, I owe to the night you let me look into your eyes and see the possibilities the world had to offer.

And nothing is more haunting than regret.

How would you describe the #feeling of #love in 140 or less characters?
Answer : Like somebody is gripping your heart, but you don't want them to let go because the ache would worsen without them.

I feel kind of numb today. Maybe it just hasn’t hit me yet. Or maybe I’m trying to hold out hope that she just doesn’t want to soccer right now, but will soon. The thing is, the next time she does want to, if the time ever comes, I need it to be forever. I need her to be willing to run non-stop during practice and games, because I no longer want tryouts with her. I want the World Cup. I want it all. And I’m not going to let her talk me into anything less.

I forgot to breathe. People said that was impossible, but I completely forgot to breathe, and when my mouth opened it was to take some of his breath, or maybe some of what I’d left behind inside of him when he left me.

I have a wandering heart—an incessant mind. It’s hard for me to look at something and see forever;

I know what would make me happy to have in the end. Nonetheless, I’ve learned that life isn’t about the end, but about the chapters in between. The filling in that we do to get our stories told and how people react to it is what keeps us going. The reality is that nobody looks forward to epilogues unless they’re in fictional stories. I’m not an exception to that rule. I know my story will end, but I hope the legacy I leave behind is big enough that nobody remembers how or why it did. It’ll just be another anecdote in the sequence of my very long and happy life (I hope).

I’m giving you time. Not because I need it or even because I think you do, but because the last time, I walked away and you let me go because you didn’t have much of a choice. This time you have all the choices. You have all the moves. The ball is in your possession. Let me know when you feel like soccer again.

I'm not saying I hate you right now; I'm saying that if I had a knife in my hand, you would be bleeding.

I think following your heart requires the right timing, and I haven’t had great luck with timing thus far.

It seems like every time we need something, life finds a way to tell us to sit and wait.

I’ve learned that life isn’t about the end, but about the chapters in between. The filling in that we do to get our stories told and how people react to it is what keeps us going.

I’ve lived in pain since the moment I lost you. I’ve learned to live with it, but I haven’t learned to accept it.

Let me go,” I said, my gaze dropping to his hand, holding the hem of my jacket. He closed his eyes briefly.
“I don’t know how,” he whispered.

Maybe our souls really are scattered in the things we love, and we are all completely lost, but from the moment she looked at me, I felt like I’d been found.

Missing: my muse. If found, please return.

My life has changed. I’ve changed, but my love for you is constant. If anything, it’s grown. You planted a seed inside of me, and it’s spread like ivy over my heart. There’s no room for anybody else.

Real love stories never end.

Real love stories never end,” he whispered.

So, I say to you, young writers: You only need one person to believe in you, even if that person is yourself.

Some say I loved her to the point of madness, bordering on obsession. She said I put her on a pedestal that her real self couldn’t attain. Perhaps they’re all right. Perhaps I am mad. And if that’s the case, to be frank, I don’t give a damn. What I know is that she sets me on fire, and if you were to perform an intradermal test on me, you’d know when she was in it because you’d see the trails of blaze she left behind. Because that’s what I feel at the mere thought of her, and I’d rather live my life in flames than be numb without her.” He paused, and I let out a breath, but then he said one last thing. “Come back to me, my little Road Runner, my world is cold and boring without you.

That was what I found most comforting about it all: we were all confused together, and ultimately, all lost together, despite our ages, races, genders, and anything else that set us apart.

There was so much beauty in the struggle of trying to find your place in the world.

The thing I loved most about pictures was that with time, it froze our emotions. Even years after taking that picture, after all we’d been through—the heartache, the struggles—when I looked at it, I felt the happiness we’d shared that day.

They say it takes twenty-one days to break a habit. It’s been approximately one thousand eight hundred and twenty six since I last held her hand in mine and I’m still waiting for the remnants of her to break off of me.

Think about your actions. They have consequences.

Who never tried to alter my language, but instead learned to translate the meaning behind my silence.

Without preamble, he pushed his mouth against mine, prying my lips apart. My hands flew from my sides to his hair and tugged. I kissed him like I hadn’t seen him in years, hadn’t felt him in ages, and missed every second we’d been apart. We broke the kiss because of the hoots and hollers of those around us, but our foreheads stayed touching.

you believe in soul mates?”   Answer: Yes.

You can keep walking away from this, and I’m going to keep letting you, because even when you think you leave, your heard always stays, and it’s something I carry with pride, and it’s something I don’t…” He paused, his gaze tearing away from mine for a second, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s something I don’t fuck with. Ever. So if you feel like you need a break, I’ll give you a break, but don’t think for a second I’m not coming after you again, Mia. And I swear to God, the next time I do, it’s forever.