My Problem Might Be That Even If

His Eyes Search The Crowd Until They Find My Face. My Heartbeat Lives In My Throat; Lives In My Cheeks. "i Still Don't Understand," He Says Softly, "how She Knew That It Would Work.

His Fingers Leave Streaks Of Cold On My Skin, Invisible To The Eye, And I Think About Wrapping His Shirt Around My Fist And Pulling Him In To Kiss Me; I Think About Pressing Myself Against Him, But I Can't, Because All Our Secrets Would Keep A Space Between Us.

I Have Realized That Part Of Being Dauntless Is Being Willing To Make Things More Difficult For Yourself In Order To Be Self-sufficient. There's Nothing Especially Brave About Wandering Dark Streets With No Flashlight, But We Are Not Supposed To Need Help, Even From Light. We Are Supposed To Be Capable Of Anything. I Like That. Because Their Might Come A Day When There Is No Flashlight, There Is No Gun, There Is No Guiding Hand. And I Want To Be Ready.

This Concept Could Easily Have Gone Awry. Stories About Love Tend To Go That Way Sometimes. They Wander Into The Realm Of Cheese And Never Return, Which I Think Is A Shame, Because There Is A Way To Write About Romantic Love Without Breaking Out The Velveeta.

We Can't Be Confined To One Way Of Thinking, And That Terrifies Our Leaders. It Means We Can't Be Controlled. And It Means That No Matter What They Do, We Will Always Cause Trouble For Them.