i daydream and then i write <33

an exceprt from my favorite book every, the poopy war:

"He loves her.
Of this he's certain.
He loves her laugh; that sharp, sudden sound; the cynical laugh that always comes too quick, like it's ripped out of her. He loves her quick, confident grin.  He loves her resillience, her bravery, even her impulsiveness.
She's everything he's not: unbound, reckless, free. He's never known anyone like her.
She terrifies him, and he loves her so much it hurts.
In all of his worst nightmares, she's dying. She's fading away in his arms, helpless and whimpering, while hot dark blood spills over his fingers.
This he tells her.
He doesn't tell her that his hands holds the blade."

someone get me a therapist now. i'm still not okay