The thing about hearts is that they always want to keep beating

I want to care, but I don't. I look at you and all I feel is tired. I walk through school and all I want to do is leave. I wake up in the morning and don't know why I'm here. I feel like I'm not real.

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?

Hope was supposed to be a good thing, but it was starting to feel like every other four-letter word you're not supposed to say.

Talking about someone who makes you happy actually makes you happy.

I-I don't usually go around throwing rocks at people's windows. Or saying that I've wanted to kiss you since your first day at work, when you wanted to know why we had three codes for fish sandwiches when we only sold one kind.

I'd forgotten how much feelings hurt.