I collapse in bed and fall asleep with me other hand clasped around the blue rubber band. And I dream about blue eyes and blue nails and first-kiss lips dusted with blue sugar crystals.
Saw two fallen branches in the shape of a heart. Thought of you.
There's nothing like being openly stared at by an attractive member of the opposite sex to make me feel as if all of my limbs were in the wrong place.
And I hold my head high toward my big entrance, hand in hand with the boy who gave me the moon and the stars.
And we'll keep walking until the rest of the world ceases to exist.
It's a physical sickness. Étienne. How much I love him. I love Étienne. I love that the accent over his first name is called an acute accent, and that he has a cute accent.
Crushes are so awful. I wonder if they suck worse for the crush-er or the crush-ee. I consider my three years of watching Josh from afar. Yeah, definitely the crush-er.
SPACES... BREAKS...TO CONTEMPLATE THINGS... TO FIGURE OUT WHAT'S IMPORTANT...
You know, If you weren't tiny, cute and remarkably innocent looking I'd be running away right now. This feels like the set-up to some torture porn.
School has ruined cinema.It's official. There's nothing worth living for.
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'm a little distracted by this English French American Boy Masterpiece.
I am worried about being in love, because it involves asking so much. I am worried that my life will never fit into his. That I will never know him. That he will never know me. That we get to hear the stories, but never get to hear the full truth.
Because eventually, no matter what the circumstances, he would see the real me. Josh is a beautiful, messy, passionate work of art, and I'm... a blank canvas. There's nothing here to love.
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 just can't fathom why anyone would stand on a ledge when there's a respectable amount of walking space right next to it.
I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I like you, he says. My body is rigid. And I don't mean as a friend.
I wish he would look at me the way he looks at his subjects. Because then he'd see there's more to me than shy, just like I see there's more to him than slacker.
It's a person's imperfections that make them perfect for someone else.
It's easy to talk about things we hate, but sometimes it's hard to explain exactly why we like something.
People always laugh, because they don't expect words like shit to come one of someone so petite, someone with a voice so quiet, so sweet.
Take a risk. Take a fucking risk. If you keep playing it safe, you'll never know who you are -Josh.
You don't always have to solve your problems alone, you know. This is why people talk to their friends.
I mean I didn't SLEEP sleep with him. Obviously. But I slept with him.
What are we doing? Mags asked. I don't know.… he said eventually. I know things have to change, but … I can't lose you. I don't think I get another one like you.
But he's grinning at her. She grins back. You've made quite the new best friend, I say. His expression turns to regret. Children do have questionable taste. I laugh. It's the first time I can remember laughing this week.
What do you say to someone who is not the same and yet completely the same?
It's strange. Home. How I could wish for it for so long, only to come back and find it gone. To be here, in my technical house, and discover that home is now someplace different.
Are you gonna say what's on your mind, or are you gonna make me guess? Because I'm not good at guessing games. People should say what they mean to say and not make other people stumble around.
Being a good person, or a better person, or whatever it is you're worried about and trying to fix? It shouldn't change who you are. It means you become more like yourself.
Now I heard in it this sense of propulsion toward a particular goal, like everything in life had buoyed him there. Like even his mistakes, even his darkness, had been taking him toward her.- Veronica Roth in Inertia.
Is it possible that I'm worthy of being loved by someone whom I love?
You're so bad at good-byes, he whispers in my ear. Which is true. There is an average of about forty-seven minutes between the time we first type goodnight and the moment we actually stop sending our words back and forth.
It's all happening at once, but everything I do seems to be wrong.