fraught, adj. Does every “I love you” deserve an “I love you too”? Does every kiss deserve a kiss back? Does every night deserve to be spent on a lover? If the answer to any of these is “No,” what do we do?

The ocean makes its music; the wind does its dance. We hold on. At first we hold on to one another, but then it starts to feel like we are holding on to something even bigger than that. Greater.

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

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

You like him because he's a lost boy. Believe me, I've seen it happen before. But do you know what happens to girls who love lost boys? They become lost themselves. Without fail.

To love--to fall--is not a question. To touch--to kiss--to speak--those are questions.

it is so unfair that he lives in ohio, because that should be close enough, but since neither of us drives and neither of us would ever in a million years say, 'hey, mom, do you want to drive me across indiana to see a boy?,' we're kind of stuck.