Being left makes you doubt your ability to keep people, even friends.

My writing process is very organic. I start with an idea. I have the general story arc and the cast. But then I sit down to write, and things change.

Every life needs a little space. It leaves room for good things to enter it.

He reached out and pushed some hair behind her ears. The gesture was tender, but it hit her with an unexpected force, like when you're in the ocean and a wave hits you. It's so soft and coll that it surprised you that it has such strength.

She'd always known he didn't love her. But it was easier to bear when he didn't know she loved him. That way they were even. Now he knew he had all the power.

Memories, even hard memories, grew soft like peaches as they grow older.

Living down your own past was hard enough. You shouldn't have to live down someone else's.