“He's doing sit-ups in his tighy-whities! His chest looks toned, but... tighty-whities?”

“He looks out into the empty street, allowing me to sit in his car and just miss her. To miss her each time I pull in a breath of air. To miss her with a heart that feels so cold by itself, but warm when thoughts of her flow through me.”

“Trust me, not every girl would give up his sweatshirt just because a girl asks.”

“God, I am freaking out. Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe I just look guilty of something and he’s picking up on that.”

“I didn't feel physically sick. But mentally. My mind was twisting in so many ways. (...) We once saw a documentary on migraines. One of the men interviewed used to fall on his knees and bang his head against the floor, over and over during attacks. This diverted the pain from deep inside his brain, where he couldn't reach it, to a pain outside that he had control over.”

“My heart and my trust were in the process of collapsing. And that collapse created a vacuum in my chest.”

“Don't give up on me now. I'm sorry. I guess that's an odd thing to say. Because isn't that what I'm doing? Giving up?”