Things end. People leave. And you know what? Life goes on. Besides, if bad things didn't happen, how would you be able to feel the good ones?

I thought living dead girls couldn't feel pain, thought I was emptied out but I'm not, I'm not.

But I know a lie when I hear one.

Cute" is one of those words people use when they know you're smart enough to realize "you've got so much personality" means "you're ugly.

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

I don't know how I know that, but I do. I can feel the beat of that truth inside me. Taste it bitter on my tongue. Sometimes, like now, I didn't think I want to know who I really am.

I’m always the one who doesn’t have a date, the one guys walk up to and say, “So, is your friend, you know, with someone?” and I may not be the only girl without someone, but it feels like it sometimes. A lot of the time.