“M. That’s what I call her, this normal, nonexistent me. It’s not that I’ve never done those things, kissed or danced or just “hung out.” I have. But it was put-on, a character, a lie. I am so good at it—lying—but I can’t lie to myself. I can pretend to be M; I can wear her like a mask. But I can’t be her. I’ll never be her.”

“She says he says, but she could be lying to me, and he could be lying to her, so I can’t believe her, even if I could believe her.”

“M: ... but everytime I start in everytime I everytime you see I would have to tell the whole story all over again or else lie so I lie I just lie who are they who are the storytellers who can put an end to stories”

“I guess they’re right when they say, “Never say never.” I said I would never beg. That’s laughable. It’s only Wednesday and I’ve already lost count of how many times I’ve called Olivia. I should be embarrassed.But I’m not.I’m desperate. More and more every day. I’m desperate not to lose her. But I don’t know what to do next. I hate to go to her house and force her to talk to me. But I will. At this point, I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for her. To see her. To talk to her. To touch her and taste her again.Oh damn, this ain’t good!”

“Because the truth is, I wouldn’t care if she lied to me, except for the fact that I love her. And once you love someone, you can’t really put up with them lying to you. It just doesn’t work. It makes things into a big mess.”

“She looks honestly upset, but then, I’ve learned that I can’t read her. The problem with a really excellent liar is that you have to just assume they’re always lying.”