Fear. Blame. Don't forget. Mom. I love you. -Lauren Oliver, Delerium

She was mine before she was yours.

I’ve been trying so hard not to think his name, not to even breathe the idea of him

There's that confidence again, that semi-infuriating easiness of his, the tilt of his head and the smile. but today it's not infuriating. Today I like it, feel like it's somehow rubbing off on me, like if I was around him enough I would never feel awkward or frightened or insecure.

For a second, I feel a sense of overwhelming grief: for how things change, for the fact that we can never go back. I'm not certain of anything anymore. I don't know what will happen--

Here's something else you might as well learn now: If you want something, if you take it for your own, you'll always be taking it from someone else. That's a rule too. And something must die so that others can live.

The worst is knowing I can't tell anybody what's happening -or what's happened- to me. Not even my mom.