Things... well, things suck sometimes. And sometimes you can fix it. And sometimes you can't. It's just the way it is.

Why do people think being with someone is the answer to everything?

She became a story, one I have mostly forgotten. One I can't end because she died a long time ago.

Imagine a guy. He’s a little taller than you, with perfect skin, skin that just screams “touch me!” and dark hair and gorgeous blue eyes and he looks so sweet and he is sweet. And then have him blush a little.

I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t think he’d ever really notice me, and in the end, he didn’t.

I never went for the talkers.

She looked at me for real and saw I was serious. She saw I knew she was for me like you know that tomorrow morning the sun will rise.