Sure you do. Love doesn't just stop, Pixie. It's always there.

And why is Heather wearing pink? Come on, people."
Heather rolled her eyes and disappeared back inside the tent, reappearing a minute later with a dark gray T-shirt on.
"Better?" She cocked her head at tristan.
"Yes. You've just extended your life by at least an hour.

Love.
Not the kind you see in the movies or hear about on the radio.
The real kind.
The kind that gets beaten down and bloody, yet perseveres.
The kind that hopes even when hope seems foolish.
The kind that can forgives. The kind that believes in healing.
The kind that can sit in silence and feel renewed.
The real kind of love.
It's rare and we have it..

They’re not really homes. More like houses where we sleep.

Where we eat—if we’re lucky. Where we cry and fight.

Where we bleed and break. Where we cower and scream.

Where we give up. Where we sigh.
Where we barely survive.

If you're referring to yourself as a 'grown-up', then you're still totally a kid. 'Grown ups' call themselves adults

Uh… Scar?” Tristan tried to sound calm. “You know you still have a knife in your hand?” Scarlet looked down at the weapon. “Yes. I want to take it with me.” “Why?” Heather swallowed. “Um.” Scarlet looked confused. “I don’t know. But I know I want it with me.