Dumped doesn't even begin to describe it. If you're going to use a trash metaphor, incinerated is more like it.

I don’t know what boldness came over me, but the resolute heaviness of Dash’s demeanor threatened to crush my soul. My pinky finger crept over and nestled against his, for comfort. Like a magnet, his pinky finger latched onto and intertwined with mine. I like magnets a whole lot.

Well sure, who doesn't need a boyfriend? but realistically, those exotic creatures are hard to come by. At least a quality one.

But I know the difference. Everyone else is a ghost. I exist here alone, stranded by choice. Deserted.

The universe doesn't decide what's right or not right. You do.

So much is happening and yet nothing at all.

I figured being a bed salesman was a job of biblically bad paradox. I mean, here he was, forced to stand for eight or nine hours a day, and the whole time he’s surrounded by beds. And not only that, he’s surrounded by shoppers who see the beds and can’t help but think, Man, I’d love to lie down on that bed for a second. So not only does he have to stop himself from lying down, but he has to stop everyone else from doing it, too. I knew if I were him, I would be desperate for human company.