Nikki

“Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real.”
― Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay

“Love is the only thing that we can carry with us when we go, and it makes the end so easy.”
― Louisa May Alcott, Good Wives

“Well, you're lucky. Because love is something you can learn. Love is something you can practice. It's something you can choose to get good at. And here's how you do it. Appreciate your person.
That's it.
Well—first be sure to choose a good person. But we're all good people here.
Choose a good, imperfect person who leaves the cap off the toothpaste, and puts the toilet paper roll on upside down, and loads the dishwasher like a ferret on steroids—and then appreciate the hell out of that person. Train yourself to see their best, most delightful, most charming qualities. Focus on everything they're getting right. Be grateful—all the time—and laugh the rest off.
And that goes for kids, too, by the way—and pets, and waiters, and even our own selves. There it is. The whole trick to life. Be aggressively, loudly, unapologetically grateful.”
― Katherine Center, The Rom-Commers

“It was a good night.

The kind of good night that I hadn't had in awhile. The kind of good that stuck to your bones, thick and warm, and coated your soul in light. Good food, with good friends.”
― Ashley Poston, The Seven Year Slip