Aching familiar in a way that made me wish I was still eight. Eight was before death or divorce or heartbreak. Eight was just eight. Hot dogs and peanut butter, mosquito bites and splinters, bikes and boogie boards. Tangled hair, sunburned shoulders, Judy Blume, in bed by nine thirty.

He didn't give me flowers or candy. He gave me the moon and the stars. Infinity.

When boy likes you, you say no thank you. You don't kick him on the ground.

I will never look at you in the same way ever again. I'll never be that girl again. The girl who comes running back every time you push her away, the girl who loves you anyway.

Do you know what it's like to like someone so much you can't stand it and know that they'll never feel the same way

Would you rather live one perfect day over and over or live your life with no perfect days but just decent ones?

Firsts are best because they are beginnings