Regretting You

by Colleen Hoover

I wonder if humans are the only living creatures that ever feel hollow inside. I don’t understand how my body can be full of everything bodies are full of—bones and muscles and blood and organs—yet my chest sometimes feels vacant, as if someone could scream into my mouth and it would echo inside of me.

And the older we get, the less we argue and the more we hang out.

I’d rather blend in with the wallpaper and quietly enjoy people-watching than be the one standing on a table in the center of a room, being the one people are watching.

“You’re a sacrificer. I don’t even know if that’s a real word, but that’s what you are. You do things you don’t want to do to make life better for the people around you. Like being the designated driver.

ten after five.

Its ten past five not ten after five

“You’re raising a child that isn’t biologically yours. That already makes you twice the parent I am.”

I dont think it would be that hard