You couldn't erase the past. You couldn't even change it. But sometimes life offered you the opportunity to put it right.

But it was smell that carried memory.

What made you feel that stomach-churning agony for one person and not another? If Bridget were God, she would have made it against the law for you to feel that way about someone without them having to feel it for you right back.

She had never had a boy talk to her like that. There was no cover of bullshit, no flirtation, no added charm, but his look was searing. He was different from anyone she had known.

I allowed myself to suffer how jarringly destructive the present feels and how fragile the past.

Let me love you, but don't love me back. Do love me and let me hate you for a while. Let me feel like I have some control, because I know I never do.

How is it that a person could be so relieved and so disappointed, both at the same time.