I'll see you later, he says, and as he does, he runs his finger briefly over my wrist. It passes over me like air, and makes me shiver like a kiss.

I wake up feverish, sore, uncomfortable. Is it sickness or is it heartbreak? I can't tell. The thermometer says I'm normal, but I'm clearly not.

The older I get, the more I lose my ability to breathe.

Her mind is an unquiet one, words and thoughts and impulses constantly crashing into each other.

Getting what you want is just as difficult as not getting what you want. Because then you have to figure out what to do with it instead of figuring out what to do without it.

There is the sudden. There is the eventual. And in between, there is the living.

When first love ends, most people eventually know there will be more to come. They are not through with love. Love is not through with them. It will never be the same as the first, but it will be better in different ways.