The Perks of Being a Wallflower

by Stephen Chbosky

“Charlie, we accept the love we think we deserve.”

“He’s something, isn’t he?” Bob nodded his head. Patrick then said something I don’t think I’ll ever forget. “He’s a wallflower.”

I love Twinkies, and the reason I am saying that is because we are all supposed to think of reasons to live.

I hope it’s the kind of second side that he can listen to whenever he drives alone and feel like he belongs to something whenever he’s sad. I hope it can be that for him.

I really think that everyone should have watercolors, magnetic poetry, and a harmonica.

And I think they knew. Not anything specific really. They just knew. And I think that’s all you can ever ask from a friend.

the kind of book you made your own.

I just wanted to know what to buy my dad because I love him. And I don’t know him. And he doesn’t like to talk about things like that.

I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That’s why I’m trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning. If this gets any worse, I might have to go back to the doctor. It’s getting that bad again.

I don’t know how much longer I can keep going without a friend. I used to be able to do it very easily, but that was before I knew what having a friend was like. It’s much easier not to know things sometimes.

But because things change. And friends leave. And life doesn’t stop for anybody.

I drove home listening to some of the songs we listened to those times when we were infinite. And I pretended they were in the car with me.

Sam dropped me off. When she was too far away to see me, I started to cry again. Because she was my friend again. And that was enough for me.

And I saw them in silhouette. Running after the sun. Then, I started running. And everything was as good as it could be.