losing my grip;

“Sawyer….”

“What, Nora?”

“Hey, calm down. What happened?”

“Where do you want me to start, Hayley? Everything happened and I’m tired. I’m tired and I can’t.... I can’t fix it. I’m not strong enough.”

what have you got that feels like flying, he asks, fingers running over scars, body pressed against yours in the corner of some club as the bassline pounds in your chest -what have you got that feels like flying, he says again, so you kiss him, so you let him taste the sky on your tongue, so you are just two burned boys looking into each others’ eyes and seeing only the sun.

“I could turn you right here and now and you’d be fine. Wouldn’t want you to give up that witchy juju of yours, though.”

“I doubt Marcel would let me live long enough if you turned me. Plus I need this witchy juju. You have your revenge and I have mine.”

I am aware of that, but what you have to understand is that the enemy is no longer just Marcel. Suddenly everyone has been feeling encouraged to try and spill some blood, to play Gods, it is becoming contagious. Perhaps it is for the best. You seem to be better, at least on the outside.

Marcel is my only enemy. He is the reason I’ve lost everything. I don’t need to spill blood or play god, I just need to get rid of him. It’s not. I wanted a goodbye. I never got... I loved him, Elijah. He was the last good thing I had and now he’s gone and no one’s... everyone’s too busy for a homeless orphan. I get it. I’m better at acting. It makes people less uncomfortable. They don’t have to think about how to deal with someone who’s grieving if I pretend I’m better.

“It’s your will of determination that’s kept you alive. Live three hundred years and you’ll see what I mean.”

“Yeah, I don’t really see myself making it past nineteen in this place. At least I know I’m not going down without a fight.”

"Luck has nothing to do with anything."

“Maybe not for you, but it’s one of the reasons I’ve survived this long.”