Layla

by Colleen Hoover

“Maybe because everyone in Nashville thinks they’re a somebody. I don’t want to be someone who thinks I’m a somebody.”

“You’re being selfish by keeping your songs to yourself. It’s better to be a selfless somebody than to be a selfish nobody.”

I’ve always wanted someone I could instantly click with and then just fucking drown in.

“Get a job you can tolerate. Release your music on the side. It’s better to be poor and fulfilled than . . . poor and empty. I was gonna say rich and empty, but I don’t think you’re rich, or you wouldn’t be playing for that band.”

“I learned that in college. More people die during brunch than any other time of day.”

I blame Jerry Seinfeld for my outlook on life. I binge-watched every season of Seinfeld when I was fifteen and came out of it believing that Jerry was right—there’s something annoying about every single human on this planet. Annoying enough to make relationships seem like torture. After witnessing all of Jerry’s doomed relationships, I started seeking out the most annoying traits in people. Their laugh. The way they treat waitstaff. Their taste in movies, music, friends. Their parents. As soon as I would start dating a girl exclusively, I would find myself already planning ways to break things off.

A brain injury has to be similar to a physical injury. You exercise a physical injury. You work harder to gain back all the strength you lost. I went through three months of physical therapy for the wound to my shoulder, but we did the exact opposite with Layla’s injury. We didn’t exercise her brain . . . we put it on bed rest.

But regardless of the love behind caring for her, or the good intentions—recovery still takes its toll, not only on the person recovering, but on everyone around them.

if I’ve learned anything since coming here, it’s that entertaining the unfathomable often leads to believing the unfathomable.