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.
Why do people think being with someone is the answer to everything?
And yet here I am. Broken and bleeding on the inside, heartsick, I am here.
...sometimes, you have to break your own heart.
But I know a lie when I hear one.
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.