Because that's the thing about mean people: They make you think that the world will never work, that there are divides that you will fall into if you approach. It takes a whole lot of good people to fill in the breach created by a single mean one.

Please may this not be a game. Please may this not be a game. Because if it’s a game, I know I’m going to lose.

I don’t want to throw everything away for something uncertain.

I've lost track of where friendship ends and falling begins. (this is the foolish refrain of the hopelessly devoted.) there are times I want to kiss you midsentence. undo the not-doing with one gesture.

I have become very good at clearing histories.

He doesn’t just look upset—he looks newly blind. There is such loss in his eyes, and it permeates every other part of his body.

I find I very rarely live up to my words. And since you know me primarily through my words, there are oh so many ways I can disappoint.