Zach Schwarz

“There is no happy ending, theres just. . . happily living. As best you can.”
― Ashley Poston, The Dead Romantics

“know,” she said, and he believed her. “You’re all capable of such great and terrible things. And in such a short amount of time. You are surrounded by millions of those like you, yet you can still feel alone. You’re so angry and powerful and wonderful. And so fragile. You can break into pieces and feel so lost. I didn’t get that. Not … before. I don’t think any of us did. You’re complex and yet so simple at the same time. It’s a dichotomy that shouldn’t be possible. When you smile, it’s like the sun is out. When you cry, it’s like you’re trapped in shadows and you can’t find your way back to the light. You can hold a gun to your enemy’s head and pull the trigger in the name of what you call God. You drop bombs and scorch the ground beneath your feet. You hurt each other. You love each other. You scream words that fall on deaf ears. You hate that others aren’t like you. They scare you, even though they want nothing more than to be you. You make yourselves a home out of nothing. You carry each other until your knees give out and you stumble. It’s almost impossible to understand. None of us could get that. Not until they felt a heart beating in a chest like I have. Not until I felt the bones beneath my skin. We’re not alike. Not really. We’re separated by time and space. And yet, somehow, we’re all made of dust and stars. I think we’d forgotten that. And I don’t know if you ever knew that to begin with. How can you be alone when we’re all the same?” Nate blinked away the burn in his eyes.”
― T.J. Klune, The Bones Beneath My Skin

“There is nothing more beautiful than being a witness to someone’s life. To know them inside and out and be with them through everything, share the same memories. Memories are everything. I want that.”
― Abby Jimenez, Say You'll Remember Me

“Um, and this is….Ilya. Rozanov. You probably know that.”
“Hi,” Ilya said.
“And he’s been…visiting. He’s…we’re, um…”
What were they, exactly? It occurred to Shane that he and Ilya hadn’t even figured out what label they were comfortable with.
“Lovers,” Ilya offered.
Fuck, way to choose the grossest possible word, Ilya.
Well, there was no going back from that word. Shane could only wait for the aftermath.
“But…you hate him,” Mom said.
“No, I…don’t. I mean. Sometimes I do, kinda. But mostly I..love him. Actually.”
“You..what?”
― Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry