If there wasn't a word for it, would we realize our masochism as much?

aloof, adj. It has always been my habit, ever since junior high school, to ask that question: “What are you thinking?” It is always an act of desperation, and I keep on asking, even though I know it will never work the way I want it to.

Because sometimes you just have to dance like a madman in the Self-Help section of your local bookstore.

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.

he is both the source of my happiness and the one i want to share it with.

With all due respect, if you’re forty-three, then I’m a fetus.

I've lost track of where friendship ends and falling begins. (this is the foolish refrain of the hopelessly devoted.) there are times I want to kiss you midsentence. undo the not-doing with one gesture.