"“He loves me,” she said,
“But he isn’t you.”
He looked up at her and smirked, he always thought she looked most gorgeous when frustrated.
“And that’s a bad thing?” He replied.
“I dunno,” she shrugged,
“In a sense.. yes, but in a sense.. no. It’s different. I mean, he’s safe. He calls when he says he will, shows up on time, checks up on me, he makes me feel secure. But you? You’re a fire. No. More than that. You were the wildfire. Crazy and out of control. You made me lose myself, simultaneously creating a frenzy and a calm. It was fire and passion. It’s like he’s safe and you’re danger. He makes me happy, but it’s not the same.“
"
- Excerpt of a book I’ll never write (via 500lettersforyou)