I felt a splinter of guilt wedge into my heart. Charlotte had hurt me; in return, I'd hurt Rob. Maybe that's what we do to the people we love: take shots in the dark and realize too late we've wounded the people we're trying to protect.

If you end your story, it's a static work of art, a finite circle. But if you don't, it belongs to anyone's imagination. It stays alive forever.

Raw love, like raw heartache, could blindside you.

Maybe knowing where you belong is not equal to knowing who you are.

What’s the difference between spending your life trying to be invisible, or pretending to be the person you think everyone wants you to be? Either way, you’re faking.

It is strange to think that we might have crossed paths, and still not have known what we were missing.

But you could only remake your own future, not anyone else's, and for some people that just wasn't good enough.