Look, let me just say it: He was hot. A nonhot boy stares at you relentlessly and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a hot boy . . . well.
YOU are valuable and rare and worthy of love.
The past feels distant, even when it's near. The future feels assured, even when it isn't.
The not knowing would not keep me from caring.
You live for pretentious metaphors.
Congratulations! You're a woman. Now die.