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“If there’s one thing you take away from this class, it should be that the world is made of endlessly intersecting stories, each one valid and true.”
“I can’t lose the thing I’ve held on to for so long. You know?” My face twists up from the pain of pushing it out. “I just really need it to be a love story. You know? I really, really need it to be that.” “I know,” she says. “Because if it isn’t a love story, then what is it?”
The excuses we make for them are outrageous, but they’re nothing compared with the ones we make for ourselves.