He's already chasing you. Now all you have to do is keep running. Just not too fast.

Graham runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. Finally, with a determined scowl, he crosses the room. His hands grip my shoulders. “We are not,” his voice is a gentle tremor, “breaking up

But the scars are always there, waiting for something to poke them.

But just because you’re strong and resilient doesn’t mean you never need someone to be there for you, to take care of you.

I try to be rational and suppress the hope that this is for real, but hope has a way of closing its eyes to reason and it just keeps growing.

I'd basically described myself: a quiet, studious bookworm who would go to bed at a decent hour. A non-partier who wouldn't bring a parade of boys through our room, or make it the floor headquarters for beer pong.

The last time someone dried my hair for me was in sixth grade, when i broke my arm." "How did you break it?" "I fell out of a tree." "You fell out of a tree?" "I think there was a boy and a dare involved." "Ah.