When you develop an infatuation for someone you always find a reason to believe that this is exactly the person for you.

All I can really hope is that I’m enough to make you happy.

Nobody’s lives just fit together. Fitting together is something you work at. It’s something you make happen - because you love each other.

I have done bad things. I can’t take them back, and they are part of who I am. Most of the time, they seem like the only thing I am.

I think too much. I think ahead. I think behind. I think sideways. I think it all. If it exists, I’ve f**king thought of it.

Do not call me perfect, a lie is never a compliment. Call me an erratic damaged and insecure mess. Then tell me that you love me for it.