You're giving up. You're slipping into being miserable and if you are being miserable, then it's all about you again. But it's not all about you. Love doesn't work that way.

I was attempting to write the story of my life. It wasn't so much about plot. It was much more about character.

This is what love does: It makes you want to rewrite the world. It makes you want to choose the characters, build the scenery, guide the plot. The person you love sits across from you, and you want to do everything in your power to make it possible, endlessly possible. And when it’s just the two of you, alone in a room, you can pretend that this is how it is, this is how it will be.

why won't they leave me alone? don't they realize I have a tinder heart and a paper body and that any spark will turn me straight to ash?

School is school-she wants it to be over, but she's afraid of it being over, because then she'll have to figure out what comes next.

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

We are so used to releasing words. We don't know what to do with them if they stay.