You don't know me. You know one me, just like I know one you. And you can't know every me, and I can't know every you.

The boy I loved didn't know I existed. Then again, he was obsessed with Camus, so he didn't know if any of us existed.

There is no word for our kind of friendship. Two people who don't see each other a lot, but can make each other effortlessly happy

"I want you to spend the night," you said. And it was definitely your phrasing that ensured it. If you had said, "Let's have sex," or "Let's go to my place," or even "I really want you," I'm not sure we would have gone quite as far as we did. But I loved the notion that the night was mine to spend, and I immediately decided to spend it with you.

She stays in the same spot, anchored by the profound, desperate loneliness of a bad relationship.

That lasting things do, in fact, last.

I know the odds are all against me and I know you might not feel this way too but I know I would rather die trying to know if I could mean something to you