me: you know what sucks about love? o.w.g.: what? me: that it's so tied to the truth.

It daunted me that you were so beautiful, that you were so at ease in social situations, as if every room was heliotropic, with you at the center. And I guess it daunted you that I had so many more friends than you, that I could put my words together like this, on paper, and could sometimes conjure a certain sense out of things. The key is to never recognize these imbalances. To not let the dauntingness daunt us.

Sharing truth is not the kind of gift that comes in wrapping paper - ripped open once and, there, you're done. No, this is a gift that must be unfolded.

I'm a firm believer that every person, young or old, has at least one good story to tell.

You have to believe there are kisses and laughs and risks worth taking.

And I, who have never thought in terms of a life, think to myself that I could make a life out of this.

It feels like I am wasting time. I mean, that's always the case. My life doesn't add up to anything.