The Butterfly Project

A butterfly flutters its wings in Malaysia and the changes in air currents cause a hurricane in Florida. I love that idea. That even one tiny action can create an enormous effect.

I once read that you fell in love like how you fell asleep: slowly at first and then all at once.

All the risk and reward is great but it doesn’t mean shit unless you feel in your heart you’re doing the right thing.

Lessening the misery of the past will lead to a brighter future.

Wasn’t love a kind of chaos theory? One small look, one smile or one word could alter the course of a life forever.

There’s so much that’s shitty in this world, when you find something that shines against all the dirt and darkness, you gravitate toward it.

It felt like I’d lost something I didn’t know I wanted. And I realized you could get used to anything—even being alone for years—right until the moment you touched something better than what you had.

I was his. In every way. And he was mine. In that one heartbeat, I knew he felt it too.

Do you ever wonder, Zelda, if you’re allowed to be happy?” Tears sprang to my eyes. “Yes,” I whispered. “All the time. Every minute.” His brows furrowed and he brushed the backs of his fingers along my cheek. “I hate to hear you say that. I hate that I can’t take that pain from you.” “Me too,” I said. “For you. You carry too much.” “Maybe we both do.

I had a sense of being dropped straight into the middle of a book without having read the early chapters.

Every day it feels less like something I shouldn’t be allowed to have, and more like something precious I can’t throw away.

He pulled me toward him, wrapping his arms around me. A sob rose to my throat but I choked it down, and held him tight. As tight as he held me, and wherever we touched became proof to one another that we were not alone.

I was lost in the dark without you, Beckett. You found me. You brought me home.

You are my home. Where you are is home.

I want this for you,” he whispered… “I want everything for you.

I reached out gave her hand a squeeze. “We need to focus on the shopping now, Dar, or else we’ll succumb to the Curse of Target.” “What’s that?” “Where you walk in with a plan to spend twenty bucks, and you walk out having spent a hundred on

I knew I was treading on thin ice. Criticism of anyone’s art, no matter how good the intentions, could be risky business.