He's solid. "You're fractured." He's hopeful. "You're hopeless." He's always there. "You're half there." He's faithful. "You're so not." He's giving. "You're afraid to give." He's honest. "You lie all the time." He's loving. "You don't know how to love.

I fell for a boy from the wrong side of the tracks.

Sorry. But I don't need some money-grubbing preacher defining my relationship with God.

In control. Out of control. Sometimes they're the same thing. The trick is knowing that, realizing it's okay to feel out of control once in a while, as long as you're sure you can regain the upper hand when you absolutely need to.

The problem with falling in love is falling back out of it again, usually because you've fallen in love with a lie. That happens as often as not.

You can turn your back but you can never really walk away.

Always before, I just said no, left it solidly there. I waver now. I want to share everything with him. Want to know what he knows, feel what he feels, share the same space he's in.