109 Quotes by Amy Reed

We should be sitting in a circle and taking turns talking. We need to be organized. We need to be planning our subversive action. We need—”Melissa circles Erin in her arms and gives her a big squeeze, then lets go before Erin has a chance to freak out. She waves her arm toward the rickety dance floor, at all the girls dancing like no one’s watching. “This is subversive action.

They know she heard them, but they don't care, or maybe they even wanted her to. Like she's not even a person, not someone with feelings, not someone who can get hurt. Just an object. Just something they can use.

That's what dreams are really like, you know? They're not full of melting clocks or floating roses or people made out of rocks. Most of the time, dreams look just like the normal world. It's your feelings that tell you something's off. Not your mind, not your intellect, not something as obvious as that. The only part of you that really knows what's going on is the part of you that's most a mystery. If that's not Surrealism, I don't know what is.

And maybe these words have become something more than emails; maybe they are a kind of journal. Writing to you is like writing to another piece of myself.

Everyone gets the message when they’re a kid that girls like pink and boys like blue, but she’s taken it to a whole new level, like being a girl is her religion and wearing pink is some kind of commandment.

What if talking about your feelings doesn't fix anything? What if what you really need is to make the feelings go away?

I feel like I'm a snow globe and someone shook me up and now every little piece of me is falling back randomly and nothing is ending up where it used to be.

Maybe there's a galaxy with a planet that's just a little more tilted, with a sun that shines just a little bit darker, and that's where I'm supposed to be, where it somehow makes sense to feel this broken.

Even though I'm sleeping again, everything still feels a little rickety, like I'm here but not quite here, like I'm just a stand-in for my real self, like someone could just reach over and pinch me and I'd deflate. I thought I was feeling better, but I don't know anymore.