You don't love someone because they're perfect, you love them in spite of the fact that they're not.
Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.
If you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them? Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn't be filled?
Once you had put the pieces back together, even though you may look intact, you were never quite the same as you'd been before the fall.
Maybe who we are isn't so much about what we do, but rather what we're capable of when we least expect it.
If you have a sister and she dies, do you stop saying you have one? Or are you always a sister, even when the other half of the equation is gone?
You know it's never fifty-fifty in a marriage. It's always seventy-thirty, or sixty-forty. Someone falls in love first. Someone puts someone else up on a pedestal. Someone works very hard to keep things rolling smoothly; someone else sails along for the ride.
You don't need water to feel like you're drowning, do you?