You bookish little pervert.
That’s what I like about sports. No matter if everyone playing the game speaks completely different languages, on the field, or the court, wherever they are playing, the language of moves and passes and scores is all the same. Universal.
I don’t know what boldness came over me, but the resolute heaviness of Dash’s demeanor threatened to crush my soul. My pinky finger crept over and nestled against his, for comfort. Like a magnet, his pinky finger latched onto and intertwined with mine. I like magnets a whole lot.
Things change all the time, mostly in little ways.
I was horribly bookish, to the point of coming right out and saying it, which I knew was not socially acceptable.
But, you see, that’s the luxury of being a lout – you get to be selective about when you care and when you don’t. The rest of us get stuck when your care goes shallow.
One of the failures of cellular communication is that tiredness often comes across as sadness.
Teenage boys cannot be trusted. Their intentions are not pure.
Hope and belief. I’d always wanted hope, but never believed that I could have such an adventure on my own. That I could own it. And love it. But it happened.
Can we try to be wise with each other for a very long time?
Books. I’d probably spend all my time alone and lost in books if I could. It’s easier that way.
So much is happening and yet nothing at all.
So this chocolate princess. Her knight in shining armor is the Easter Bunny.
People are like that, judging you before they know you.
Dumped doesn’t even begin to describe it. If you’re going to use a trash metaphor, incinerated is more like it.
Because I withered under the glare of an actual invitation, I was a firm believer in preventive prevarication – in other words, lying early in order to free myself later on.
I can be a badass DJ when I want, but I am also an insufferable music snob.
Who else would find me at just this moment? First he found me drunk, now he found me cleaning up poo from a barking pony who was about to go into attack mode.
We all just took the bookstore at its word, because if you couldn’t trust a bookstore, what could you trust?
The universe doesn’t decide what’s right or not right. You do.
But I know the difference. Everyone else is a ghost. I exist here alone, stranded by choice. Deserted.