Moments, when lost, can't be found again. They're just gone.

It's the imperfections that make things beautiful

Love is scary: it changes; it can go away. That's the part of the risk. I don't want to be scared anymore.

It will get easier each time, I think. I hope. I just have to keep trying.

That's when I finally got it. I finally understood. It wasn't the thought that counted. It was the actual execution that mattered, the showing up for somebody. The intent behind it wasn't enough. Not for me. Not anymore. It wasn't enough to know that deep down, he loved me. You had to actually say it to somebody, show them you cared. And he just didn't. Not enough.

I say, “In the contract we said we wouldn’t break each other’s hearts. What if we do it again?” Fiercely he says, “What if we do? If we’re so guarded, it’s not going to be anything. Let’s do it fucking for real, Lara Jean. Let’s go all in. No more contract. No more safety net. You can break my heart. Do whatever you want with it.

Would you rather live one perfect day over and over or live your life with no perfect days but just decent ones?

If love is like a possession, maybe my letter are like my exorcisms

I delete the picture of him from my phone; I delete his number. I think that if I just delete him enough, it will be like none of it ever happened and my heart won't hurt so badly