Forget stardust—you are iron. Your blood is nothing but ferrous liquid. When you bleed, you reek of rust. It is iron that fills your heart and sits in your veins. And what is iron, really, unless it’s forged?
People keep on praising me on my ability to control my temper when in reality they know nothing about me or my temper. They haven’t seen my temper. They don’t want to see my temper.
All these men and women, heroes and heroines saying they would die for the person or people they love. And I’m here thinking ‘wouldn’t it be braver to live for them?’
A sacrifice of life doesn’t always mean love (via ramblingsofamun)
She traced his jawline as he slept, her heart fluttering as a small smile graced his lips. She felt as if she could live in that moment forever; the moment between her finger brushing his skin and the smile appearing. It was soft, and simple, but it felt like everything. In that moment, she felt beautiful. Not because she actually was, but because even while he was asleep her touch could cause a smile, and that was more than enough for her.
R.G. // Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #85 (via softhearted-ly)
