I knew I wasn’t making sence, but I couldn’t seem to connect my thoughts to my tongue. That feeling... How did you tell someone that?
My mom used to say that sometimes just saying something aloud was enought to make it true. I wasn’t so sure about that.
What is it about horrible, violent things that capture us?
You aren’t responsible for what other people do, good or bad. Everyone is just making the choices they think will help them get by.
And it was like the longer he talked, the more words he used, the less they came to mean anything. It was an endless stream of ideas that were as flat as his voice.
He was looking at his friend and seeing a stranger.
I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s really going on inside your head.
When had I started believing in “normal,” anyway?
No, just listen. I’m going to tell you the amazing story of us.
Who says I would have?” I knew he meant it cruelly, that it was a weak moment and all he wanted was for me to feel as much pain as he did, but there wasn’t enough venom in his words for them to sting. He just wasn’t capable of it.
If these parents had been paying attention from the beginning, not running around like a band of panicked chickens, all of them scrabling for thle last scrap of hope, none of them willing to be the one to stand up and question it, they would have seen the lie a mile away.
It’s not worth it to weigh what you could have done or should have done when there’s no way of changing it.
I hated him- I hated him for everything he had done, but, more than that, I hated him for being right.
We have to keep moving. If I stopped now, I knew I would never be able to start again.
With him, I didn’t have to be afraid, not of what I could do intentionally or by mistake. I din’t have to throw up every defence I possessed to keep my brain’s wandering hands still, because Clancy was more than capable of keeping me out of his head.
You are guarded. You don’t show your cards to anyone. There are times that you’re impossible to read.
We were the same, in the ways that mattered.
I couldn’t help but wonder if he had picked up on my half-truht as easily as I had picked up on his.
I think there’s some part of everyone, that’s turned into the memories of a place. Strong feelings leave an inmprint on the air that echo back to whorever’s unlucky enought to walk through that place again.
You’re missing the point. It’s not that I believe in what Lee’s saying; it’s that I hope he’s right. I really, really hope he’s right, because what’s the alternative?