Family, like arsenic, works best in small doses...unless you prefer to die.

It doesn't have to be on Valentine's Day. It doesn't have to be by the time you turn eighteen or thirty-three or fifty-nine. It doesn't have to conform to whatever is usual. It doesn't have to be kismet at once, or rhapsody by the third date. It just has to be. In time. In place. In spirit. It just has to be.

it's the belief, not the words, that mean everything. it's the floating.

There is no word for the recipient of the love. There is only a word for the giver. There is the assumption that lovers come in pairs.

I had gotten so used to being alone, but never entirely used to it. Never used to it enough to stop wanting the alternative.

The unwarranted devotion. Putting up with the fear of being with the wrong person because you can't deal with the fear of being alone. The hope tinged with doubt, and the doubt tinged with hope. Every time I see these feelings in someone else's face, it weighs me down.

We found out a long time ago that we weren’t meant to fall in love with each other. But a part of me still fell in hope with him.