But even though I know my flaws are many (many many many), and there are always ways I could be better, and I should never stop working for that - I also need to give myself a break. I can cut myself some slack sometimes. Because I'm a work in progress. Because nobody is perfect. At least I acknowledge the mistakes I've made, and am making. At least I'm trying. That means something, doesn't it?
I wonder if she sees what I am. How it seems so impossible that someone could look at them, see how plainly the care for each other, and find anything ugly or shameful or worthy of hatred in it, when all I see is something beautiful.
"Hate is... it's so easy," he says. His face calm, calmer than it has any right to be, his eyes not wavering from mine, like he's so completely sure of what he's saying. "Love. Love takes courage."