I love love and I know that sounds cliche. But the kind of love I love is the one where it *should* be wrong, but isn’t. I write love that bleeds. That starts with the real and raw mush of a person. I write people who don’t know how to say “I love you” but will kill for you.
Because that kind of love? The kind that’s messy and hard and violent in its devotion—that’s the kind that stays with you.
That’s the kind I write.
