Everyone tried with me. And everytime, it felt like the whole point of life was to see if trying was ever enough.

i have to cross the river of extreme awkwardness in order to get to the paradise on the other side.

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.

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.

In my experience, desire is desire, love is love.

This is the trap of having something to live for: Everything else seems lifeless.

How can you spend hours every day trying in small ways to figure out who you are, then have a near-stranger give you a sentence of yourself that says it better than you ever could?