The worst part of being okay is that okay is far from happy.

Sometimes you just have to choose to let things go, to move on.

I guess that's the thing about betrayal; it holds no prejudice and preys on those who neither see it coming nor deserve it.

It was the way she looked at me the whole time. That look said more than she ever could and, in turn, scared me more than her words alone ever could.

Is love always like this? Is it always so passionate, yet so damn painful?