But you couldn’t touch this kid right now, bullets would have dodged him.

You can live with me in this house I've built out of writers blocks.

We are symbolic. We are driving to the edge of the city and talking in vague-yet-resolute certainties about our dreams and our futures. We are leaving certain things in the medicine cabinet. We are falling in love.

He felt homesick for places he had never been. He missed hearts he had never loved.

there’s really nowhere else I can go, and even if there were, it wouldn’t make a difference because I’d just be running from myself, and you can’t do that no matter how hard you try, and trying hard is what got you in this predicament in the first place.

He felt like the last bullet in a gun meant for revenge, sealed with a kiss.

I'm an insomniac, my mind works the night shift.