I am starting to get tired of relying on words.
Yesterday is another world. I want to go back there.
Every single answer starts with the phrase 'I don't know.' But most of the time she does know, if I give her the time and the space in which to answer.
I have no more idea now of who I am than I did before. But at least I know that. And I'm starting to figure out who I want to be.
being with someone for over a year can mean that you love them … but it can also mean you’re trapped.
Belonging. Togetherness. These words are as complicated and confusing as the word love. It’s probably all the same thing. Or it would be if we let it be. I can only guess from observation.
You can't deny that there's something between us." "No. There is. When I saw you today--I didn't know I'd been waiting for you until you were there. And then all of that waiting rushed through me in a second. That's something... but I don't know if it's certainty.
I want you to be honest with me. Even if it hurts. Although I would prefer for it not to hurt.
Even though it was hard to see you, it was good to see you.
You make it a production. Slam doors. Knock things over. Scream. But I just leave. Even if I'm still standing there, I leave. I am refusing you. I am denying you. I am an adjective that is quickly turning into a noun.
It feels like we’ve stepped outside of time. Even though there is no such place.
And as we drift into sleep, I feel something I’ve never felt before. A closeness that isn’t merely physical. A connection that defies the fact that we’ve only just met. A sensation that can only come from the most euphoric of feelings: belonging.
You don't know, but I'm noticing.
And I, who have never thought in terms of a life, think to myself that I could make a life out of this.
You are so close, and I can’t reach you.
You're giving up. You're slipping into being miserable and if you are being miserable, then it's all about you again. But it's not all about you. Love doesn't work that way.
Once the storm comes out, the landscape changes. What you had before is altered in some way. And you have a choice: build something new and better from what is left or abandon it.
You know what happens to girls who loves lost boys? They become lost themselves.
Her mind is an unquiet one, words and thoughts and impulses constantly crashing into each other.
I wake up feverish, sore, uncomfortable. Is it sickness or is it heartbreak? I can't tell. The thermometer says I'm normal, but I'm clearly not.
It's the way you say thank you like you're genuinely thankful. I have never met anyone else who does that on a regular basis.
It feels like I am wasting time. I mean, that's always the case. My life doesn't add up to anything.
The most understandable thing in the world should be how minutes lead to hours, how hours lead to days, how days can make a year. And yet, this neat progression can still be surprising.
We didn't believe in fate, but we believed in serendipity. We felt very lucky.
Life tells you to take the elevator, but love tells you to take the stairs.
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