How many times can our emotions be tied to someone else's - be pulled and stretched and twisted - before they snap? Before they can never be mended again?

I don’t understand why things always go from perfect to weird with us. It’s like we’re incapable of normal human interaction.

A blank canvas...has unlimited possibilities.

Umbrellas are so small and sad and easy to forget.

You ought to stop listening to stereotypes and start forming your own opinions.

I know you aren't perfect. But it's a person's imperfections that make them perfect for someone else.

How could I have ever for a moment believed I wasn't in love with him?