You're like a grey sky. You're beautiful, even though you don't want to be.

Sometimes I wonder if my heart is like a black hole--it's so dense that there's no room for light, but that doesn't mean it can't still suck me in.

I wish I could draw you how I see you. I'd draw a boy with the most magnetic smile, and the kindest hands, and eyes that are gloomy, but can sometimes be bright. I'd draw a boy who deserves to see the ocean.

I once read in my physics book that the universe begs to be observed, that energy travels and transfers when people pay attention. Maybe that's what love really boils down to--having someone who cares enough to pay attention so that you're encouraged to travel and transfer, to make your potential energy spark into kinetic energy.

Something inside me clicks. It's like I've spent my whole life fiddling with a complicated combination only to discover I was toying with the wrong lock.

The first day I arrived at Steve's house, Mike was waiting for me on the front steps, his grin stretched so wide I thought his face might break. [....]He's all energy and smiles and love

He can't make me love him when he's going to leave me.

I guess that's the magic of songs. The very best ones, they let you forget that they were written by someone about something that has absolutely nothing to do with you. Instead, you bend them to your life, matching the "you" of the song with whomever you want. The songs feel so much like your pain, your love, your longing, that you forget they were born from someone else's.

I believe strongly that we all have multiple versions of ourselves. And the true test of love is learning to accept all of those versions, even when it's messy. Actually, especially when it's messy.