motif, n. You don’t love me as much as I love you. You don’t love me as much as I love you. You don’t love me as much as I love you.

It was a mistake," you said. But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was mine, for trusting you.

Here’s what I know about the realm of possibility— it is always expanding, it is never what you think it is. Everything around us was once deemed impossible. From the airplane overhead to the phones in our pockets to the choir girl putting her arm around the metalhead. As hard as it is for us to see sometimes, we all exist within the realm of possibility. Most of the limits are of our own world’s devising. And yet, every day we each do so many things that were once impossible to us.

Part of growing up is making sure your sense of reality isn't entirely grounded in your own mind.

People are rarely as attractive in reality as they are in the eyes of the people who are in love with them. Which is, I suppose, as it should be.

It's the way you say thank you like you're genuinely thankful. I have never met anyone else who does that on a regular basis.

After working for so long on being sure of each other, sure of this thing, suddenly we were unsure again.