for once, you believed in yourself. you believed you were beautiful and so did the rest of the world.

Its 75 Degrees! In December!

He always did the leaving. But not this time. She kept walking, and did not look back.

That was the nice thing about the Spot: you could hear everything, but no one could see you.

Don't give me no rotten tomato, 'cause all I ever wanted was your sweet potato.

Then I'd crawl back into bed, smelling her all around me, and tell myself that next time, I would lock that window. But I never did.

Some things are meant to be broken. Imperfect. Chaotic.