I get it now. I have to make good on my promise. To let her go. To really let her go. To let us both go.

But seventeen is an inconvenient time to fall in love.

Sometimes the best way to find out what you’re supposed to do is by doing the thing you’re not supposed to do.

I have a feeling that once you live through something like this, you become a little bit invincible.

Even if you find him. Even if he didn't leave you on purpose, he can't possibly live up to the person you've built him into." It's not like the thought hasn't occurred to me. I get that the chances of finding him are small, but the chances of finding him as I remember him are even smaller. But I just keep going back to what my dad always says, about how when you lose something, you have to visualize the last place you had it. And I found―and then lost―so many things in Paris.

Suddenly, it's all too much. Bryn and the bump watch. Vanessa with my high school yearbook. The idea that nothing's sacred. Everything's fodder. That my life belongs to anyone but me.

Anything that kills hope is a sin