Real friends were the kind where you pick up where you'd left off, whether it be a week since you'd seen each other or two years.

I could hear her babbling away beside me, but I wasn't really paying attention. I could barely focus on anything. My nerve endings seemed to have come alive; they almost jangled with anticipation I was going to see Will. Whatever else, I had that. I could almost feel the miles between us shrinking, as if we were at two ends of some invisible elastic thread.

Just live well. Just live

I was once told by someone wise that writing is perilous as you cannot always guarantee your words will be read in the spirit in which they were written.

​​​​​​You're going to feel uncomfortable in your new world for a bit. It always does feel strange to be knocked out of your comfort zone.

Nobody fights you like your own sister; nobody else knows the most vulnerable parts of you and will aim for them without mercy.

I know this isn’t a conventional love story. I know there are all sorts of reasons I shouldn’t even be saying what I am. But I love you. I do. I knew it when I left Patrick. And I think you might even love me a little bit.