talk was cheap and useless. Action was what mattered. And me, I was moving. Now, again, always.

I'm really interested in the idea of anomynity and familiarity. And sunglasses, you know, are so indicatitve of that. I mean, they're worn by some people to hide themselves. But they're also a fashion statement, meant to be noticed. So there's a dichotomy there.

If you didn't love him, this never would have happened. But you did. And accepting that love and everything that followed it is part of letting it go.

I seriously doubt that the Santa police do an underwear check." -Cora

I didn't want to talk about what happened, so it seemed safest not to talk at all.

As if at the age of eighteen life already sucked beyond any hope of improvement.

That sucks, though," Wes said finally, his voice low. "You're just setting yourself up to fail, because you'll never get everything perfect." "Says who?" He just looked at me. "The world," he said, gesturing all around us, as if this party, this deck encompassed it all. "The universe. There's just no way. And why would you want everything to be perfect, anyway?" "I don't want everything to be perfect," I said. Just me, I thought. Somehow. "I just want—