The rebel is back. It feels good – different, somehow – but good. It is sometimes true that a girl can become someone else with the simplest of changes.
There are all kinds of ways for a relationship to be tested, even broken, some, irrevocably; it’s the endings we’re unprepared for.
Here’s what I know: death abducts the dying, but grief steals from those left behind.
I’ve told too many lies. I hold too many secrets. Who can I really trust? Who can trust me when I don’t even trust myself?
You can’t really hear heartbreak. It is remarkably silent but excruciating all the same.
My favorite color is black because I love the night sky, black licorice, and I feel sorry for the color black because no one ever chooses it as their favorite.
You know how it goes – the one person you care about is the one you hurt the most.
Beautiful things are like that, extraordinary one minute, gone the next.
Lies told in a carefree tone with lips parted in a practiced smile are often believed.
None of us can really breathe, though not one of us will openly admit this to anyone else, least of all, ourselves.
No need to write horror; I live it.
Well, you got more than most then. She thanked you, Prez, but you’ve got to stay away from her. She’s trouble. I’m telling you this for your own good.
I want you to be good. Wait for me. And stay far away from every other guy.