I was a superlate bloomer, and I was kind of a prude. I always wanted to be able to keep the number of people I've had sex with very low, because I never wanted to have to tell my future wife, "Oh, yeah, I was with 30 people."

We are dreamers. We worship love, we hope against hope and toss practicality out the window.

He is the straight to video sequel to your summer hit movie. He is the verse to that song on the radio you have to hum cause you can’t remember the words. You couldn’t break this kid’s heart, he is so far beyond that. This is the kind of kid who blew out the candles on hope all alone for too many birthdays to remember. And no one has ever fallen in love with anyone with a smile that’s dripping with “please die”.

I want so badly to tell Her it’s going to be all right, that I’ll leave the band and forget this silly crusade. I want to tell Her that I am ready to settle for this life, that she is all I will ever need in the world, and that we’ll never be apart. I want to tell Her that I will protect Her forever. But none of that would be the truth. So I don’t say anything at all.

He hugged her tight, mixing their tears to be bottled and fermented, so they could be drunk on each other when this was all over.

He sharpened his flaws and disappointments into daggers.

And there are people that will stand in your corner and convince you to stand up for another round no matter what.