I think you’re the saddest person I’ve ever met. It’s like you’re drowning in it.

I liked him first, but it doesn't matter. I still like him. That doesn't matter either. Or at least, it's not supposed to.

Then I heard someone laugh. I wished I didn't know whose laugh it was, but I knew Will's laugh just like I knew he had a small scar right above his left elbow. You couldn't be reluctantly lust-ridden for someone without noticing stuff about them.

And you… do you know what you are?” “Stupid?” “Beautiful,” he says, his face turning red.

Talking about someone who makes you happy actually makes you happy. Being happy makes you want to talk, to go over everything, to share it so you can remember it all over again.

I have been smashed and put back together so many times nothing works right. Nothing is where it should be, heavy thumping in my shoulder where my heart now beats.

Too late, too late, juice pouring does not a kind soul make, and I killed you.