And I think to myself, wouldn’t it be so lovely if we viewed ourselves through the same lens as the people who love us?

but our subconscious is the real boss. Our conscious actions might be the ship we’re sailing, but our subconscious is the rudder that steers it.

where there’s something in front of me waiting to be realized, but my consciousness hasn’t figured it out yet, and my subconscious doesn’t know how to communicate it to me either.

The nicest thing you can ever do for another human being is see them, and really see them, at that. To be understood is one of most base desires we as people have, and it was one that Oliver wasn’t only deprived of, but often quite deliberately denied.

Oliver’s never cared; he’s never wanted to know how to peer inside the minds of other people. I think he’s afraid of what he’ll find.

strong-willed enough to master the entire spectrum of what it means to be a human. Ugly, beautiful. Happy, sad. Terrifying, wonderful.

A romantic endgame is something I’ve spent much of my adult(ish) life considering. It sounds ominous, and I guess it is in some ways, but so is love if you’re doing it properly. Ominous and hopeful in one fell swoop.

“Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” I stare up at the big arch, which is my favorite part, I think. “Even though it’s broken?” “Yep,” he says quietly, and he’s looking just at me.

He’s the heavy quilt you pull over your head when it’s too cold and too early to wake up. He’s the song no parent ever loved me enough to sing. He’s the way water runs and bubbles over stones in a stream. He’s a quiet mind.