She wanted letters. Real letters written in his handwriting on actual paper that she could hold and keep and read whenever the mood struck her. They were proof, solid and tangible, that someone was thinking about her.
There are certain outfits you have that make you feel good every time you wear them, and then there are outfits where you wore them too many times in a row because you liked them so much, and now they just feel like garbage.
That’s when I see him. Peter Kavinsky, walking down the hallway. Like magic. Beautiful, dark-haired Peter. He deserves background music, he looks so good.
There’s an openness to his face, an innocence – a certain kind of niceness. It’s the niceness that touches my heart the most.
I want to be that person for him, I want to be the one who keeps him going during this difficult time.
We broke so easily. Like it was nothing. Like we were nothing. Does that mean it was never meant to be in the first place? That we were an accident of fate? If we were meant to be, how could we both walk away like that?
For a minute there it was really good. It was really, really good. Wasn’t it good? Maybe really, really good things aren’t meant to last for too long; maybe that’s what makes them all the more sweet, the temporariness of them.
I suppose I’ll say it all started with a love letter.
That’s life. Things don’t always work out.
Do you think there’s a difference? Between belonging with and belonging to, I mean?” “Sure. One implies choice; the other doesn’t.
Please let me faint right now, because if I faint I will no longer be here, in this moment. It will be like in movies when a girl passes out from the horror of it all and the fighting happens while she is asleep and she wakes up in a hospital bed with a bruise or two, but she’s missed all the bad stuff. I wish that was my life instead of this.
I could fall in love with you so easily. I’m halfway there already. You’re so perfect in my memory, and you’re perfect now. It’s like I dreamed you into being. Of all the boys, you’re the one I would pick.
You’re not my best friend. You’re my sister, and that’s more.
My body is a temple not just any boy gets to worship at. I won’t do any more than I want to do.
Like snow globes, you shake them up, and for a moment everything is upside down and glitter everywhere and it’s just like magic – but then it all settles and goes back to where it’s supposed to be.
How crazy, how thrilling that your whole life trajectory can change in just one night.
You can’t be close to someone, not truly, with secrets in between you.
I just let people believe what they please. I don’t feel like it’s my responsibility to quantify myself for them.
To love a boy, to have him love you back. It feels miraculous.
I want it all, and to have it all, you have to risk it all.