“….And if I asked you about love I’d get a sonnet, but you’ve never looked at a woman and been truly vulnerable. Known that someone could kill you with a look. That someone could rescue you from grief. That God had put an angel on Earth just for you. And you would’nt know how it felt to be her angel. To have the love be there for her forever. Through anything, through cancer. You wouldn’t know about sleeping sitting up in a hospital room for two months holding her hand and not leaving because the doctors could see in your that the term “visiting hours” didn’t apply to you. And you wouldn’t know about real loss, because that only occurs when you lose something you love more than yourself, and you’ve never dared to love anything that much. I look at you and I don’t see an intelligent confident man, I don’t see a peer, and I don’t see my equal. I see a boy…”
“…My wife’s been dead two years, Will. And when I think about her, those are the things I think about most. Little idisyncracies that only I knew about. Those made her my wife. And she had the goods on me too. Little things I do out of habit. People call these things imperfections Will. It’s just who we are. And we get to choose who we’re going to let into our weird worlds. You’re not perfect. And let me save you the suspense, this girl you met is’nt either. The question is, whether or not you’re perfect for each other. You can know everything in the world, but the only way you’re findin’ that one out is by giving it a shot…”
“That’s what I’m saying, Will. You’ll never have that kind of relationship in a world where you’re afraid to take the first step because all you’re seeing are the negative things that might happen ten miles down the road”
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