I hate when people say “You don’t need him,” because they are right I don’t need him, but I want him more than anything and that is infinitely worst.
I don’t think people love me. They love versions of me I have spun for them, versions of me they have construed in their minds. The easy versions of me, the easy parts of me to love.
She was too quiet, or she was too loud. She took things too seriously, or not seriously at all. She was too sensitive, or too cold-hearted. She hated with every fiber of her being, or loved with every piece of her heart. There was no in-between for her. It was either all or nothing. She wanted everything but settled for nothing
if lucifer needs someones consent to enter their body then so do you