I love him wholly and unconditionally and without reservation. I love him enough to sacrifice a friendship. I love him enough to accept my own happiness and use it, in turn, to make him happy back.

But I am learning that perfection isn't what matters. In fact, it's the very thing that can destroy you if you let it.

Don't you wish we could pick the people we love?" "Yeah," I say. "Or just make the people we love want the same things we want.

It's amazing to me how few guys know their friends' birthdays.

I'm nostalgic and I do think about a "what if."

No matter what the circumstances. I am more like most men in this regard. No second chances. It's not so much about morality, but about my inability to forgive. I'm a champion grudge holder, and I don't think I could change this about myself even if I wanted to.

I've always loved sister stories in fiction, from the time I was little, reading about Beezus and Ramona. I've always wanted to write a sister story.