That swipe deserves its own romance novel.
He’s been bumping my hip the whole game, winking at me, gazing at my mouth. It’s the kind of attention I’ve always liked–people making it so obvious they’re into you that you don’t have to drive yourself wild with anxiety trying to decipher their feelings.
From all the books I’ve read, I thought I understood the concept of love, but wow, I knew nothing.
No one else will want you, depression brain says. At least he already knows about all your issues.
If anything could confirm that weather isn’t small talk, it’s this. Weather connects us. A shared experience, even when we aren’t in the same place.
Every time I imagined adulthood, it looked different from this reality.
You know better. You’re so mature.′ Now I’m wondering if maybe those compliments took something away from me. Not anything dramatic, like my entire childhood, but the ability to try things out. To fail.
Talking about him was hard, but not talking was worse. So often, I’m trapped between the pain of remembering and the fear of forgetting.
My problems are not in the same country as hers and Ima’s. They’re not on the same map. Does that make them less valid?
If I have time, I can schedule a panic attack right before the cake cutting.
I am fine. I am great. I am the coolest of cucumbers. I have taken the chillest of pills.
He’s wearing Seattle’s official flag, a plaid flannel shirt.
God bless my rigorous workout routine.
Artoo. Hey. We’ll figure it out.
People say they want something serious, but as soon as it starts heading that way, they bolt. Either they’re lying or they realise they don’t want something serious with me.
Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner for the word most likely to kill the romance. Congratulations, crusty.
Time. That’s what I’ve been chasing all day, this notion that after tonight, after graduation, none of us will be in the same city again. The things that mattered to us for the past four years will shift and evolve, and I imagine they’ll keep doing that forever. It’s terrifying.
We can’t keep meeting like this.
Rowan,” says the girl, and the guy whose mother just got married introduces himself as Neil. I’m not sure how long he and Rowan have been together, but they can’t seem to stop touching each other.
When he grins, it’s bright enough to light up the night sky. It’s kind of beautiful.