What’s the difference?” I asked him. “Between the love of your life, and your soulmate?”
“One is a choice, and one is not.

Tell me a truth, Senna."
"I don't know how," I breath.
"Then tell me a lie."
"I don't love you," I say. I sink beneath the weight of it all.
Isaac stirs behind me, and then he is leaning over me, his elbows on either side of my head.
"The truth is for the mind," he says. "Lies are for the heart. So let's just keep lying.

That's why writers write—to say things loudly with ink. To give feet to thoughts; to make quiet, still feelings loudly heard.

I think it's hard for you to fall in love because you like control, and you can't control what another person does or feels, so you keep all your cards.

...love was desire and desire was an emptiness.

Love is illogical. You fall into it like a manhole. Then you're just stuck. You die in love more than you live in love.