The webs spun by our existence had gracefully overlapped and knotted until you could not have one without the other. We were infinitely intertwined.

I was seventeen all over again, falling into intrigue with the boy who was an exquisite contradiction.

If you can just stop loving her then you never really loved her at all. Love doesn't work that way. If you ever truly love someone, then it never goes away. It can become something else. There are all different sorts of love. It can even become hate- a thin line and all that- and, really, hate is just another kind of caring.

You see her for who she really is, past all the disillusions most people get tangled up in when they think they are falling in love. You accept her flaws, and you love her just as much because of them as you do in spite of them.

It was funny how all the useless knowledge you accumulated when you're in love with someone could sit for years gathering dust in the back of your mind, only to spill out at the slightest reminder.