I have always been drawn to coming-of-age stories and books and movies featuring compelling young characters.
Every couple has two stories – the edited one to be shared from the couch and the unabridged version best left alone.
And although one broken heart doesn’t make me an expert in the subject, I believe you need both things – time and an emotional replacement – to fully mend one.
Throughout the ordeal, I learned that getting mad was easier than being sad. Anger was something I could control. I could settle into an easy rhythm of blame and hate. Focus my energy on something than the ache in my heart.
The whole “misery loves company” thing never applies more than when you’re breaking up. The thought that the other person is doing fine is simply too much to bear.
You can’t quantify love, and if you try, you can wind up focusing on misleading factors.
Sorrow comes with so many defense mechanisms. You have your shock, your denial, your getting wasted, your cracking jokes, and your religion. You also have the old standby catchall – the blind belief in fate, the whole “things happening for a reason” drill.
I learned that getting mad was easier than being sad.
Sweetened ice tea is one of the things I love about the South, right up there with homemade biscuits and cheese grits.
The world is not that black and white, Rachel. There are no moral absolutes. It is complex.
I remember that my mother once told me that the opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference.
We are one of those couples i used to watch, thinking to myself that I’d never be on the inside of something so special. I remember reassuring myself that it probably looked nicer than it actually was, I am happy to be wrong about that.
After all, I think, isn’t it always about a boy?
What if two people want to be your partner, then what?
There is no better audience for someone in love than someone in love.
We are in love and meant to be together.
In the final seconds before sleep, I wish I could go back and undo everything, give those little girls another chance.
I still think I love him more. It’s one of those things you never know for certain because there’s no way to enter all the relationship data in a computer and have it spit out a definitive answer. You can’t quantify love, and if you try, you wind up focusing on misleading factors.
There are two kinds of women – those who eat in a crisis and those who lose their appetite in a crisis.
I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to explain to Zoe one of the very saddest notions in love and life: sometimes the timing is wrong – and sometimes you realize the heart of the matter way to late in the game.
I will find the good in this loss. I will make something happen that wouldn’t have happened otherwise.