I can flirt with the best of them, but only when it doesn't matter.
We just want to walk. Our legs need to move to keep our minds from collapsing.
This isn't even something I've feared, because I never knew it was a possibility.
Breathing is hard. When you cry so much, it makes you realize that breathing is hard.
For whatever reason, we like to focus on the 2 percent that's different, and most of the conflict in the world comes from that.
This is the hard part about having best friends that I feel no attachment to -- I don't give them any benefit of the doubt. And being best friends is always about the benefit of the doubt.
Even though I'm seventeen, I guess I still thought this would always be true - that there would always be that lost-and-found, and not the lost-and-still-lost that I am now trapped inside.
I have become very good at clearing histories.
I cannot think of a single word to describe what we feel. I think we all feel it, to varying degrees. Perhaps in some other language there is a word for 'the world is terribly wrong.' That feeling of stun and unbelief and abandonment and shock and horror and distress.
Once you experience enormity, it lingers everywhere you look, and want to be every word you say.
I notice you, I want to say. Even when no one else does, I do. I will.
I’ve found that people tend to trust other people who dress like them.
This is the trap of having something to live for: Everything else seems lifeless.
It will affect me in ways I can't even begin to get my mind around. This day is a dark crater. There is no room for songs. The songs are wrong. Every song is wrong. And I don't know what to do without music.
These teenager looks aren't going to last forever, and that there are much better foundation to build a life upon than how attractive you are.
All I get is tomorrow.
It is an awful thing to be betrayed by your body. And it’s lonely, because you feel you can’t talk about it.
I only have eyes for you.
Because when something happens, she's the person I want to tell. The most basic indicator of love.
It won't be a normal life-I know that. But it will be a life. A life together.
She has been hanging on to the hope of him for so long that she doesn't realize there isn't anything left to hope for.
The boy I just kissed is talking to my father. The boy I want to kiss again is waiting for my mother to serve pancakes. I must fight the urge to freak.
If other people see you differently, you’ll end up seeing them differently, too.
Little less than a promise, and a little more than a chance.
But I want to feel like life matters. I had something real with you, but then the realness scared me. I decided to go for other things instead.
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