Maybe Someday (Maybe, #1)

by Colleen Hoover

I already hate being twenty-two, and I still have 364 more days to go.

“A life of mediocrity is a waste of a life,”

We have a good relationship. He’s good to me, and I know he loves me. I just don’t understand why every time I think about a future with him, it’s not an exciting thought.

She’s so fiercely independent it’s almost intimidating.

If I can’t even accurately judge the people closest to me, then I can’t trust anyone. Ever. I hate them for taking that away from me. Now, no matter who comes into my life after this, I’ll always be skeptical.

Oh, yeah. That’s right. I’m on Ridge’s couch, and twenty-two is the worst age ever.

She’s so frustratingly determined I seriously don’t see how I’ll ever get through to her.

You only miss the idea of him. You weren’t happy with him even before you found out he was cheating. You were only with him because it was comfortable. You just miss the relationship, but you don’t miss Hunter.

I honestly thought he was the one. Me: No. You didn’t. You wanted him to be, but that’s not how you really felt.

You say you feel lost without him, but you felt lost even when you were with him.

lyrics are harder to write when you have to invent the feelings behind them.

Our hopes and wishes Won’t relight the flame

We can have everything we ever wanted And just a little bit more

My entire body is battling itself. My left brain is telling me this is somehow wrong, my right brain is wanting to hear her sing again, my stomach is nowhere to be found, and my heart is punching itself in the face with one arm and hugging itself with the other.

I realize there can’t be a maybe someday between us. There will never be a maybe someday. He loves her, and she obviously loves him, and I can’t blame them, because whatever they have is beautiful. The way they look at each other and interact and obviously care about each other

Maybe someday I’ll have that, but it won’t be with Ridge, and knowing that diminishes whatever ray of hope shone through the storm of my week.

Turning twenty-two has rotted my soul.

I’ve always taken pride in not asking for their help.

I hate it when people spend their entire lives blaming their parents for every bad thing that happens to them.

Her eyes are on the TV, but my eyes are on her.

I don’t feel guilty simply because I’m staring at her. I feel guilty for how it’s making me feel.

You’re with the one and only girl you’re meant to be with.

“You know, most things people say when they’re drunk are more accurate and honest than the things they say when they’re sober.”

I try to ignore what you say You turn to me, I turn away But Cupid must have shot me twice

Thoughts of you invade my head Truths are written, never said

Lines are drawn, but then they fade For her I bend, for you I break

I can’t figure out how something that feels like this can be so wrong.

How can two good people who both have such good intentions end up with feelings, derived from all the goodness, that are so incredibly bad?

she’s looking at me as if I’ve just given her the world. And it feels pretty damn good.

I know that the way I think about her and feel about her is wrong, but I struggle so much with how right it feels when I’m with her.

Nothing in my life has ever felt so good yet hurt so achingly bad.

I never realized how powerful desire could be. It consumes every part of you, enhancing your senses by a million.

Desire is easy to fight. Especially when the only weapon desire possesses is attraction. It’s not so easy when you’re trying to win a war against the heart.

The entire relationship would be built on betrayal and deceit, and those two things have never made and will never make for a good foundation.

Hey, heart. Are you listening? You and I are officially at war.

Feelings take time to disappear,

She seems so curious about me, about life, about people in general. It’s easy to tell her things.

I’m worried that feelings are the one thing in our lives that we have absolutely no control over.

I hit send, then immediately gasp. What the hell was I thinking? That wasn’t funny. It was supposed to be funny, but it’s after midnight, and I’m never funny after midnight.

He’s holding me now as if I’m a part of him—a wounded extension of his heart—and he’s realizing just how much that extension needs to be severed.

I remain completely motionless as two huge tears spill from my eyes, scarring their way down my cheeks in a trail of shame.

She looks so fragile right now, and I wish I could wrap myself around her like a cocoon and shield her from every single thing this world has left to throw at her.

I don’t know a lot about the human body, but I would be willing to bet there’s a nerve that runs directly from the palm of the hand, straight to the heart.

Our hands mold together perfectly, just like the two of us.

I’m convinced that people come across others in life whose souls are completely compatible with their own. Some refer to them as soul mates. Some refer to it as true love. Some people believe their souls are compatible with more than one person, and I’m beginning to understand how true that might be.

Our souls aren’t just compatible—they’re perfectly attuned. I feel everything she feels. I understand things she never even has to say. I know that what she needs is exactly what I could give her, and what she’s wishing she could give me is something I never even knew I needed.

Well, usually when something goes wrong, someone is at fault.

There isn’t a doubt in my mind that we could be perfect for each other’s life, Sydney. It’s our lives that aren’t perfect for us.

Don’t thank me, Sydney. You shouldn’t thank me, because I failed miserably at trying not to fall in love with you.

I lean my head against the wall behind me and try to imagine my world before Sydney entered it. It was a good world. A consistent world. But then she came along and shook my world upside down as if it were a fragile, breakable snow globe. Now that she’s leaving, it feels as if the snow is about to settle, and my whole world will be upright and still and consistent again.