As much as I'm drawn to writing about teenage girls, I like the idea of having the freedom to branch out and write about different ages, for different ages.

She must have sensed she never really had him. That was a sadness of hers, he knew.

It's always nervewracking to put yourself out there. But it's the root of joy.

But there were times when you felt miserable and you wanted to feel better, and other times when you felt miserable and you figured you would just keep on feeling miserable.

I killed her once and died for her many times and I still have nothing to show for it. I always search for her ; I always remember her. I carry the hope that someday she will remember me.

She wasn’t sure if he wanted more from her or if he wanted less. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was always both.

What can I say? I'm obsessed. And as we all know obsessed girls can't be held responsible for our actions.