That's how they say it: He loves you in his own way. Well, what about my way? What if I need for him to love me in my way?

I tilt her chin up and bend my face to hers, silently praising every woman who's had a hand in making her who she is.

As we lay in the semi-dark hours later, we faced each other, sharing his pillow. I'd never felt more connected to anyone.

Sorry, boyfriends everywhere—you’re doomed to sit through an hour and forty-seven minutes of syrupy drivel. The payoff? Between my face, Tadd’s abs and Quinton’s biceps, your girl will be ready for takeoff as soon as the credits roll. You’re welcome.

No offense to hot girls everywhere- but newsflash- there are hot girls everywhere.

I watched him pull his t-shirt over his head. I could put hin on replay doing that and watch it all day.

Something about first love defies duplication. Before it, your heart is blank. Unwritten. After, the walls are left inscribed and graffitied. When it ends, no amount of scrubbing will purge the scrawled oaths and sketched images, but sooner or later, you find that there’s space for someone else, between the words and in the margins.