He was my first boyfriend, and I made him my everything - he was my new life, my new love, my new compass point. I guess that's the danger with firsts - you lose all sense of proportion.

Here's what breaks us: Even though we know better, we still want everything to be all right.

Maybe there's a way to keep us in this moment. Not the sad part. But the coming together part.

Do I really have to find a word for it? Can't it just be what it is?

I want to take back at least half of the “I love you”s, because I didn’t mean them as much as the other ones.

Music is everywhere. It’s in the air between us, waiting to be sung.

How sad it must be for you to be nothing more than a hollow statue, to have your tomb preserved and your story forgotten.