Carti Cu Colti

“I don’t hate you, Jace.” 
“I don’t hate you, either.” 
She looked up at him, relieved. “I’m glad to hear that—” 
“I wish I could hate you,” he said. His voice was light, his mouth curved in an unconcerned half smile, his eyes sick with misery. “I want to hate you. I try to hate you. It would be so much easier if I did hate you. Sometimes I think I do hate you and then I see you and I—” 
Her hands had grown numb with their grip on the blanket. “And you what?” 
“What do you think?” Jace shook his head. “Why should I tell you everything 
about how I feel when you never tell me anything? It’s like banging my head on a 
wall, except at least if I were banging my head on a wall, I’d be able to make myself stop.” 
Clary’s lips were trembling so violently that she found it hard to speak. “Do you think it’s easy for me?” she demanded.”

—	City Of Glass, Cassandra Clare