“All I Need are Shoes, Booze and Bad boys with Tattoos.”

“Psf. I'm not an alcoholic. An alcoholic needs a drink. Look here," I explained raising my next shot to her. "I already have one. S therefore, I do not need one. Which makes me not an alcoholic.”

“I want you to tell me why you have a pair of broken angel wings on your shoulder. I want you to tell me why you cut your wrists and I want to know why and how you play and sing the way you do, but most of all I want you to tell me what I need to do to be a good enough man for you.”

“I wanted to wrap that moment up in tissue paper and save it forever someplace near my heart, just so I could take it out and look at it when the world was too harsh. The beautiful drunk boy in the pillow fort in my living room telling me I was exquisite.”

“Please don't be sorry, Grace. I am your friend and I'm here if you need to talk about anything or need a shoulder to cry on.""Thanks.""Especially if that's the only way I'll ever get to hold you.”

“Grace," he whispered as he slid his fingers over my swollen lips. "I want to be inside you so damn bad right now. But when I do that, I want to hear you scream my fucking name as you claw your nails down my back.”

“Please, Grace, whatever it is you're going after, please try to find it here with me. I will try my best to be the man that you need me to be.”