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The woman was a romantic. Another strike against her in my book. Romantics were the hardest women to shake loose. The sticky ones.
He was studying me in a way that people didn’t do in polite company.
Fighting a man you grew up tumbling with was like fighting yourself.
I didn’t know what went on behind closed doors. But I did know that sometimes a bad seed was just a bad seed. No matter what field it was planted in, no matter how it was tended, some just came up rotten.
“There’s a difference between sink or swim when you introduce sharks,”
when she wasn’t feeling warm and friendly toward you, you definitely felt the cold.
She looked like summer.
I couldn’t seem to stop wanting this woman’s orbit to overlap with my own.
“You’re the one who has to live your life. Don’t apologize to other people for the decisions you make for yourself.”
Single moms were the world’s unsung fucking heroes.
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Maybe I like being the hero for once.”
“You know what they say about fine. Fucked up. Insecure. Neurotic. And emotional,”
“He didn’t have the happily ever after example you grew up with. Sometimes when you don’t know what’s possible, you can’t hope for it yourself.”
The past and the future were two places I had no business being.
Mistakes were meant to be learned from, overcome. They weren’t meant to destroy.
We lost my mom, but she didn’t choose to leave us.” I swallowed hard. “Dad? He chose. He abandoned us. He wakes up every day and makes the same choice.”
