Stop being so… optimistic. It’s getting on my nerves.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, distracted. "No." I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full - of butterflies.

Maybe you'll get lucky." I said bleakly, lurching on my feet. "Maybe I'll get hit by a truck on my way back.

Stupid, shiny Volvo owner.

Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget; it was a hard line to walk.

I used to think of you that way, you know. Like the sun. My personal sun. You balanced out the clouds nicely for me." He sighed. "The clouds I can handle. But I can't fight with an eclipse.

I think she's having hysterics. Maybe you should slap her.