He had no idea that grief was a reward. That it only came to those who were loyal, to those who loved more than they were capable of.
I just have to come clean and admit I am an extremely, painfully slow writer. I have this unfortunate – or fortunate, I’m not sure which is correct – habit of editing while I’m writing which everyone tells me that I shouldn’t do that. But that’s just the way I write and I think it’s important to stay true to your own writing style and momentum.
And at the start of every new day, I still believed I could choose my own beginning, one that was scrubbed clean of everything past
Hope was based on the unknown, and I liked knowing things. Like that I was going to fail. Failure had better odds.
Life’s only as bad as you make it out to be. It’s go nothing to do with the way it is.
