“I never knew I had the power to hurt him, only that he possessed the power to hurt me.”

“I knew I love him then. It was the first time I cried out of hurt and the thought that he might never fully understand me.”

“I had hurt her feelings, I found out later; I didn’t know I had that power.”

“Oh gods... oh gods... I had hurt him... so many times, I had hurt him. By trying to hurt myself, I had hurt him. By trying to push him away, I had hurt him. Every time I opened my mouth and belittled myself with my "turns of rough poetry", I had sliced his heart as fine as my wrists. I did not know why he loved me as he did. I might never know. But as I stood there and held him, my back nagging at me and my leg screaming in protest, I realized that the least I could do was welcome his love with an open heart. And part of doing that was loving myself enough to want to live.”

“There were things I wanted to tell him. But I knew they would hurt him. So I buried them, and let them hurt me.”

“Damn him. I could love. I had it all inside of me. If he knew so much about me, why couldn't he see that? If I didn't love him, how could it hurt so badly?”