When someone breaks up with you, their beauty-- which you took such satisfaction in-- suddenly becomes unfair.

It's the secret smile you get from knowing that, somewhere, there is someone who is yours. Not in the sense that you own her or control her. She is yours because you can say anything to her, whenever you need to. And she can do the same, whenever she needs to.

I feel such a tenderness for these vulnerable nighttime conversations, the way words take a different shape in the air when there's no light in the room.

underneath all that denial, you're someone who's deeply, deeply nice.

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.

I'm not a very happy person," I told him."But sometimes I can trick myself into thinking I am.

I would always wait to take you home.