'It was a mistake,' you said. But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was mine, for trusting you.
It's one thing to fall in love. It's another to feel someone else fall in love with you, and to feel a responsibility toward that love.
When things break, it's not the actual breaking that prevents them from getting back together again. It's because a little piece gets lost - the two remaining ends couldn't fit together, even if they wanted to. The whole shape has changed.
We always see our worst selves. Our most vulnerable selves. We need someone else to get close enough to tell us we’re wrong. Someone we trust.
This is why we call people exes, I guess - because the paths that cross in the middle end up separating at the end. It's too easy to see an X as a cross-out. It's not, because there's no way to cross out something like that. The X is a diagram of two paths.
Trying to write about love is ultimately like trying to have a dictionary represent life. No matter how many words there are, there will never be enough.
I wake up thinking of yesterday. The joy is in remembering; the pain is in knowing it was yesterday.
It would be too easy to say that I feel invisible. Instead, I feel painfully visible, and entirely ignored.
There will always be more questions. Every answer leads to more questions. The only way to survive is to let some of them go.
It scares me how hard it is to remember life before you. I can't even make the comparisons anymore, because my memories of that time have all the depth of a photograph. It seems foolish to play games of better and worse. It's simply a matter of is and is no longer.
Readers embrace all kinds of characters as long as they are written with emotional truth.
I am constantly torn between killing myself and killing everyone around me.
