"𝙷𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕, 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚢."

"𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜, 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚡 𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚃𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚘'𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚙, 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚎𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚘𝚏 . 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

A𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗. "
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What if Tommy wrote poems in exile? What if a year after his return they miraculously end up on Tubbo's doorstep? What if they're both forced to confront the past and fix what is broken?

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Chapter quote is from Madeline Miller's The Song of Achiles.
(And in this case, I mean it platonically.)