I've learned to get really good at this - say one thing when I'm thinking about something else, act like I'm listening when I'm not, pretend to be calm and happy when I'm really freaking out. It's one of the skills you perfect as you get older

My former people were not totally wrong. Love is a kind of possession. It’s a poison. And if Alex no longer loves me, I can’t bear to think that he might love somebody else.

people do terrible things, sometimes, for the best reasons.

I used to think that's what love was: knowing someone so well he was like a part of you.

I'm not ugly but I'm not pretty either. Everything is in-between. I have eyes that aren't green or brown, but a muddle. I'm not thin but I'm not fat either. the only thing you could definitely say about me is that: I'm short

Don't worry about what you're writing or whether it's good or even whether it makes sense.

He is no longer mine to lose, but the grief is there, a gnawing sense of disbelief.