“I want the things most people don’t notice. The ring and the key and the way you have of wearing everything on the inside.”

“I want that. I don’t think a week goes by I don’t dream about it. The way it feels to move inside you. The way your body grabs on like tight velvet. The sounds you make, like having me inside you is the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“And then I save up for a ring and ask you to marry me. And then, if everything goes the way I want, you agree. And then whatever you want. As long as you're with me, I know things will be alright”

“I realize that this is not, like, boyish. I realize that properly speaking guys should only think about sex and the acquisition of it, and that they should run crotch-first toward every girl who likes them and etc. But: The part I enjoy most is not the doing, but the noticing. Noticing the way she smells like oversugared coffee, and the difference between her smile and her photographed smile, and the way she bites her lower lip, and the pale skin of her back. I just want the pleasure of noticing these things at a safe distance—I don’t want to have to acknowledge that I am noticing. I don’t want to talk about it or do stuff about it.”

“I think what hurts the most is that I just really want to belong. I want to stand inside the circle of other people and be noticed for the right things, but it seems like the wrong things are always bigger. And all the advie I've ever read --smile more, be yourself, dream big, stay positive--seems to have some darker side that's never mentioned.”

“Eyes,” he snapped. “On me, Mia. Always on me. You don’t come with your eyes closed. I want to see everything you have when I’m inside you. You don’t ever shut me out.”