It may seem that every time someone offers you a hand up, they just let go and you slip further down.

As a writer, my only responsibility is to tell a compelling story.

Because it may seem like a small role now, but it matters. In the end, everything matters.

I want to look back. To look over my shoulder and see the Stop sign with huge reflective letters, pleading with Hannah. Stop!

I was too weak to walk. At least, I thought I was too weak. But in truth, I was too weak to try.

Sometimes we have thoughts that even we don’t understand. Thoughts that aren’t even true—that aren’t really how we feel—but they’re running through our heads anyway because they’re interesting to think about. If you could hear other people’s thoughts, you’d overhear things that are true as well as things that are completely random. And you wouldn’t know one from the other. It’d drive you insane. What’s true? What’s not? A million ideas, but what do they mean?

And here he is again, yet things feel like they'll never be as easy between us as they once were.