I pulled the oxygen tubes from my nostrils and raised the tube up over my head, handing it to Dad. I wanted it to be just me and just him.

It was not enough to be the last guy she kissed. I wanted to be the last one she loved. And I knew I wasn’t. I knew it, and I hated her for it. I hated her for not caring about me. I hated her for leaving that night, and I hated myself , too, not only because I let her go but because if I had been enough for her, she wouldn’t have even wanted to leave. She would have just lain with me and talked and cried, and I would have listened and kissed at her tears as they pooled in her eyes.

Something about me has always liked the drama and inconvience of bad weather. The worse the better, really.

I’m not up for laughing, but their laughter makes the room feel safer, so we begin to explore.

It was nice - in the dark and the quiet... and her eyes looking back, like there was something in me worth seeing.

C'mon Pudge. I'm teasing. You have to be tough. I didn't know how bad it was-- and I'm sorry, and they'll regret it-- but you have to be tough.

Sometimes people don't understand the promises they're making when they make them.