And what about me? What did I do? How will Hannah say that I scarred her? Because I have no idea.
But deep down, the truth was the only person saying that was me.
It took all the guts in the world to keep that conversation going. Guts and two plastic cups of beer.
If you could hear other people’s thoughts, you’d overhear things that are true as well as things that are completely random. And you would know one from the other.
People had difficult time saying nice things to each other, so she devised a way for us to anonymously say what we felt.
Because inside, I felt so happy and sad at the same time. Sad that it took me so long to get there. But happy that we got there together.
Hannah wasn’t my first kiss, but the first kiss that mattered; the first kiss with someone who mattered. And after talking with her for so long that night, I assumed it was just the beginning. Something was happening between us. Something right. I felt it.
You’re a go-with-the-flow guy,” he says. “You’ve always been that way. And that can feel great because it means you don’t have to make any hard decisions. But sometimes you need to figure out what you want, Josh. If that means you need to swim against the tide to get it, at least you’re aiming for something that could make you very happy.
How can you fix something if you don’t know what’s broken? Hannah didn’t tell us.
But it’s more than a scratch it’s a slap in the face and a knife in the back, it’s a punch in the stomach because you’d rather believe some made up rumor than what you knew to be true. So tell me Jessica, did you drag yourself to my funeral? And what about you-the rest of you- did you drag yourself to my funeral, and if you did, did you see the scars you left? No, probably not because most of them can’t been seen with the naked eye.
Nothing. It’s ridiculous,” he says. “I don’t belong on those tapes. Hannah just wanted an excuse to kill herself.” I.
I’m a... paperback, write-in-the-margins kind of girl.
I hated poetry until someone showed me how to appreciate it. He told me to see poetry as a puzzle. It’s up to the reader to desipher the code, or the words, based on everything they know about life and emotions.
I wanted people to trust me, despite anything they’d heard. And more than that, I wanted them to know me. Not the stuff they thought they knew about me. No, the real me.
I felt my head continue to nod as if it was attached to heavy springs...
The glass door to Rosie’s closes behind me, and I hear three locks immediately slide into place. So now where? Home?
But I couldn’t raise my eyes to face her. I didn’t want to see a look of disappointment or frustration in her eyes. I didn’t want to see those kinds of emotions directed at me.
And the next day? Nothing in my bag. The note was gone. Maybe it didn’t seem like a big deal to you, Zach. But now, I hope you understand. My world was collapsing, I needed those notes. I needed any hope those notes might have offered.
Through the steam, the whole world seemed like a dream.
So we walked into the living room, where one side of the couch was occupied. By Jessica Davis and Justin Foley. But there was plenty of room on the other end, so we sat down. And what was the first thing we did? We sat down our cups and started talking. Just... like... that. -pg 208.