There is no better taste than this: someone else's laughter in your mouth.

Please kiss that girl a million times.

It was her eyes and my eyes and I felt a surging sensation of rightness, of saying the right thing at the right time to the right person.

After everything I'd lived through, I was not going to be reduced to a one-sentence definition.

There were so many different versions of him. It was countless versions of a song, and they were all original, and they were all true, and they were all right. It should have been impossible. Was I supposed to love them all?

I hated this. I hated knowing what I wanted and knowing what was right and knowing that they weren't the same thing.

The truth is, I feel myself being fascinated and repelled by her: She's both a mirror of myself and a door to part of this island that I'm not.

One thousand ways to say goodbyeOne thousands way to cryOne thousands ways to hang your hatbefore you go outsideI say goodbye goodbye goodbyeI shout it so loudCause the next time that i find my voiceI mught not remember how

I missed the sound of her shuffling her homework while I listened to music on her bed. I missed the cold of her feet against my legs when she climbed into bed. I missed the shape of her shadow where it fell across the page of my book. I missed the smell of her hair and the sound of her breath and my Rilke on her nightstand and her wet towel thrown over the back of her desk chair. It felt like I should be sated after having a whole day with her, but it just made me miss her more.