For the two of us, home isn’t a place. It is a person. And we are finally home.
Is it possible for home to be a person and not a place?
I wish friends held hands more often, like the children I see on the streets sometimes. I’m not sure why we have to grow up and get embarrassed about it.
French name, English accent, American school. Anna confused.
I know you aren’t perfect. But it’s a person’s imperfections that make them perfect for someone else.
Will you please tell me you love me? I’m dying here.
Boys turns girls into such idiots.
I’m saying I’m in love with you! I’ve been in love with you this whole bleeding year!
Why is it that the right people never wind up together? Why are people so afraid to leave a relationship, even if they know it’s a bad one?
I mean, really. Who sends their kid to boarding school? It’s so Hogwarts. Only mine doesn’t have cute boy wizards or magic candy or flying lessons.
Girl scouts didn’t teach me what to do with emotionally unstable drunk boys.
I’m a little distracted by this English French American Boy Masterpiece.
I wish for the thing that is best for me.
Just because something isn’t practical doesn’t mean it’s not worth creating. Sometimes beauty and real-life magic are enough.
So what do I wish for? Something I’m not sure I want? Someone I’m not sure I need? Or someone I know I can’t have?
I don’t want to feel this way around him. I want things to be normal. I want to be his friend, not another stupid girl holding out for something that will never happen.
Seriously, I don’t know any American girl who can resist an English accent.
When it’s right, it’s simple.
How many times can our emotions be tied to someone else’s – be pulled and stretched and twisted – before they snap? Before they can never be mended again?