You meet people, you part ways, sometimes you cross paths again. Mostly, you don't.

I think everything is happening all the time, but if you don't put yourself in the path of it, you miss it. When you travel, you put yourself out there. It's not always great. Sometimes it's terrible. But other times ... [...] It's not so bad.

And yes, it was a high school romance, but it was still the kind of romance where I thought we were trying to find a way to make it forever.

But then Mason touches my neck, to the spot on it where the cut from that night has since healed, and I pull away. He was right, after all; it didn't leave a scar, though part of me wishes it had. At least I'd have some evidence, some justification of this permanence. Stains are even worse when you're the only one who can see them.

You talked to me, but you didn’t. I could see you having these two-sided conversations. The things you wanted to say to me. And the words that actually came out.

Can you move on from something when you're not sure what it is you're moving on from?

I like French fries," I say. I like French fries? I sound like a slow child in a made-for-TV movie.