I know from experience that beneath every peripheral girl is a central truth. She’s hiding hers away, but at the same time she wants me to see it.

But isn't this a dance? Isn't all of this a dance? Isn't that what we do with words? Isn't that what we do when we talk, when we spar, when we make plans or leave it to chance? Some of it's choreographed. Some of the steps have been done for ages. And the rest -- the rest is spontaneous. The rest has to be decided on the floor, in the moment, before the music ends.

This is a difference between us: you desire what other people have, while I desire the things I used to have, or think I might have one day.

Putting up with the fear of being with the wrong person because you can't deal with the fear of being alone.

We are so used to releasing words, we don't know what to do with them if they stay. No matter how many times we let them go, they come back. The words that matter always stay.

There is no such thing as no choice. There is always a choice. The only question is whether it's a bearable one.

This isn't even something I've feared, because I never knew it was a possibility.