Hidden Bodies (You #2)

by Caroline Kepnes

Being together is the best feeling in the world, better than sex, better than a red convertible or that first I love you.

there is nothing more terrifying than realizing that the one who knows you best loves you least, pities you even.

I love them; they are like kids, the way they just fucking hope. I hate them; they are like kids, the way they just fucking hope. I envy them.

People are so lonely, they spend their birthdays on the Internet, thanking people for wishing them a happy birthday, people who only know it’s their birthday because Facebook told them.

Guac is guac and while sometimes it’s slimy and disgusting, it’s never delicious.

Walking is mental. You sharpen your thoughts and process your emotions.

This is why people like writing. You visit old friends without having to go on Facebook and see what they’re up to and deal with what idiots called FOMO. You make them into what you want them to be, the people they could be if only they were braver, smarter.

“You should write,” she says. “You say some good weird shit sometimes.”

They forgot that the sweetest thing in life is to be alone, as you were born, as you will die, soaking in the sun, knowing that you put the cactus in the right place, that you don’t need someone to come along and compliment your work, that someone who did that would, in fact, just be getting in the way.