She was showing me a part of her when she told me about what book she was reading. I should have told her about a book that meant something to me the way that book meant something to her, because I can think of no better way to meet a girl than to see her through the eyes of the story she loves best.
Perhaps grief is like battle: After experiencing enough of it, your body’s instincts take over. When you see it closing in, you harden your insides. You prepare for the agony of a shredded heart. And when it hits, it hurts, but not as badly, because you have locked away your weakness, and all that’s left is anger and strength.
How did you decide when someone was irretrievably lost - when they were so evil or toxic or just plain set in their ways that you had to face the fact they were never going to change? How long could you keep trying to save them, and when did you give up and grieve for them as though they were dead?
“You ride as a man, fight as a man, and you think as a man-“
"I think as a human being,” she retorted hotly. “Men don’t think any differently from women- they just make more noise about being able to.”