Innocents

Because love is a lot of things, but above all, love is what we make it. And we’ll make this never ending.

Don’t you get it, baby?” “What’s there to get?” she asks. “That I love you.” “Well, you have a shitty way of showing it. I smirk. “That doesn’t make it any less true.

We’re attached in ways I can’t comprehend. While everyone else expects me to fuck up … she just loves me. And I’m reckless enough to let her. She’s my softer side, and I’m her motherfucking monster.

You said you loved my belly button,” I remind him. “You said ‘love,’ Thomas. Love,” I drag the word out. “Does that mean you love me?

Our love is not perfect. We are fucked-up and bleeding, but neither one of us is powerful enough to walk away from it like we should.

Love is a strawberry blonde liar, tease-baby, princess-girl torture.

Love is a fighting a losing battle.

I’ve been taught that relationships are supposed to be built from trust, but we’re a walking untruth — solely made from love.

You’re my safe spot. You have my heart. There’s nothing else.

Love may be a battlefield, but we’re not doing any wrong. We’re kids in a crowd on the top of the world: high, wild, and innocent.

Love turns blind eye. And it's unpredictable.

What kind of person does it make me if I accept words I know are lies? Because I know they are. He’s absolutely honest with me about everything but loyalty.

I love you more than she does, cocaine whispers.

Love is fucked up, but love is all there is.

Love is skewed. Love is being strong when he is weak. Love is obsessive and offensive and not any good, but he’s mine.

I feel kind of safe when I'm with him. I know he'd protect me with his life, from anyone and anything, but he can't and he doesn't protect me from himself.

Alone, we’re us: an innocent secret made of bad habits spread across his bed.

If he’s in love with me, why does he need her? I’m here. I’m love. What is she?

She’s the friend my sister needed, the daughter my mom wanted, a child my dad doesn’t feel guilty about, and the fucking reason my heart beats." - Dusty

She’s the only thing worth anything in my life.

Because I love you, nobody else will ever touch me. Even though you are constantly touched.

The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.

I love your heart,” he tells me, making it beat. “And your heart loves me.

Bliss leads me to contentment and promises me forever. And I believe her. Because love is a lot of things, but above all, love is what we make it. And we’ll make this never ending.

All three of them hold the smoke in their lungs, coming a little closer, a little closer, and a little closer, until they are right in front of my face. Thomas holds up his hand, counting: one, two … On three they blow smoke in my face. I gasp. They do it four more times.

My girl has that effect on us. She’s the friend my sister needs, the daughter my mom wants, a child my dad doesn’t feel guilty about, and the reason my heart beats. Leighlee Bliss is the pièce de résistance. She’s our saving grace. She’s my pulse and my nervousness and my … everything.

I know that sex doesn’t equal love or respect . I know this prudent, adoring side of Dusty that no one else even thinks he’s capable of, and I know as well that there’s nothing I can do to stop him from being him.

Love for him doesn't listen to logic, practicality, or consequence. It's a lot like him in that way, our love. It wants what it wants, when it wants it. And when in wants, it needs.

It feels immense, whatever this is. Like a cliff, but also like home base – unstable, but essential.