His Hand Touches My Waist, Steadies Me.

I Think It's A Human Tendency That's Been Around For A While To Try To Be As Good As Possible To Prove Your Worth.

He Kisses Me Again, More Insistent This Time, His Hands Squeezing My Waist. His Breaths, His Body, My Body, We Are So Close There Is No Difference.

It Seems Like The Rebellions Never Stop, In The City, In The Compound, Anywhere. There Are Just Breaths Between Them, And Foolishly, We Call Those Breaths “peace".

Human Beings As A Whole Cannot Be Good For Long Before The Bad Creeps Back In And Poisons Us Again.

If We Stay Together, I'll Have To Forgive You Over And Over Again, And If You're Still In This, You'll Have To Forgive Me Over And Over Again Too. So Forgiveness Isn't The Point. What I Really Should Have Been Trying To Figure Out Is Whether We Were Still Good For Each Other Or Not