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I crave more of him – a level of him I’m not sure he’s capable of giving because every part of me suspects that journal belongs to him. And every part of me hopes, selfishly, that it doesn’t.
She looks pretty today, though she always does. But today her hair’s a little brighter, like she maybe just had it done. And her makeup is different. Then again, it’s always different. Every time I see her, she looks a little bit like somebody else. She’s like those fireworks over the lake last weekend, the ones that were every color all at once. You can’t pin Aidy Kincaid down. You can’t pigeonhole her into one particular type of anything.
Love is fleeting and temporary. In the end, all it really does is clip your wings and break your heart.
