Things that break - be they bones, hearts, or promises - can be put back together but will never really be whole.

Ross held her face between his hands and kissed her. He tasted doubt on her tongue and pain on the roof of her mouth. He swallowed these, and drank again. Consumed, she had no choice but to see how empty he was inside, and how, sip by sip, she filled him.

Love is not an equation, it is not a contract, and it is not a happy ending. Love is the slate under the chalk, the ground that buildings rise, and the oxygen in the air. It is the place you come back to, no matter where your headed

You always knew after shitty things happened, who your friends really were.

Just because you keep something a secret doesn't mean it never happened, no matter how much you want that to be true.

It felt like I'd been living underground, and for a moment, I'd been given this glimpse of the sky. Once you've seen that, how can you go back where you came from?

Maybe mothers - consciously or subconsciously - repelled their daughters in different ways.