There will always be more questions. Every answer leads to more questions. The only way to survive is to let some of them go.

We found out a long time ago that we weren’t meant to fall in love with each other. But a part of me still fell in hope with him.

I know I should just leave. Just go. Because there's a point where a mistake turns into a big mistake, and I should probably come to my senses before I get there.

So what do you have to confess now?" I don't know why I'm saying any of this, except that is the truth. "I'm confessing that I don't know if I'm ready for this." "What is 'this'?" "Being open. Being hurt. Liking. Not being liked. Seeing the flicker on. Seeing the flicker off. Leaping. Falling. Crashing.

The word I think of is precarious. I am struck by how precarious it all is. How the things that hold us are only as strong as the faith we have in them.

Neophyte, n. There are millions upon millions of people who have been through this before-- why is it that no one can give my good advice?

Because it is senior year I have begun to see things as potential absences. The things I love will become the things I'll miss.