Furthermore

Furthermore siempre está esperando a que nos distraigamos. Siempre hay una treta, una trampa, un peligro más inteligente o más tonto de lo que crees. Es una tierra extraña y terrible en la que perderse.

No entendía que un corazón roto, si no recibía cuidado alguno durante largo tiempo, en algún momento dejaba de latir.

[...] and she looked up at the sky and wondered, as she closed her eyes, how this small, cluttered world had managed to make room for all her happiness.

Love, it turned out, could both hurt and heal.
Strange.

[...] but to be different was to be extraordinary, and to be extraordinary was an adventure. It no longer mattered how the world saw her; what mattered was how she saw herself.

She knew that being different would always be difficult; she knew that there was no magic that would erase narrowmindness or iron out the inequities in life. But she was also beginning to learn that life was never lived in absolutes.

And because she was a girl made of more heart than hurt, she forgave him on the condition that he, too forgive her.

In fact, it struck her as silly now, to be bothered by her missing colors. What did it matter what she looked like when she had purpose?

"You're an artist." He smiled. "You can paint the world with the color inside of you".

He did not understand that a broken heart long untended would eventually cease to beat.