“Let’s forget everything that has happened,“ he said, “and start again.” And I said: “I can’t.” “Why not?” he asked, “don’t you love me enough?” And I replied: “it’s not that, it’s that I loved you too much. It’s that I let you in too fast. Everything you did affected me in some way. Every time you tore me apart. "I couldn’t start afresh, even if I tried. Our past has affected me in ways that I can’t forget.”
“She treats you the way she wishes someone would treat her. So please don’t be annoyed if she keeps asking if you’re alright. It’s just because no one ever asked her.”
“Sometimes, when things are quiet, I imagine you waking up beside her. I imagine you opening your eyes in the morning and just watching the soft rise and fall of her ribs as she breathes. In my mind, she always laughs at your jokes. In my mind, she never makes you cry. I have to believe that she is much better than me. Much better suited to you. I have to believe we were never meant to be. I have to convince myself that you and I could never have worked out. Because if I thought, for a moment, that we ever had a chance I think it would kill me. And I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from running back to you.”
“For a while, everything ached and then a little voice inside of me said, “Hey, you have to do something other than hurt all the time.“ And I said, “I know. I know. I’m trying.”
“if he wants to walk out of your life, let him go sis. actually, hold the door open for his bitch ass. don’t ever beg him to stay. if he don’t see any value in having you in his life, fuck him. your life is too short to run miles after a little boy who wouldn’t take a step for you”
“Now I will stop writing about you. And I will stop looking for you. And I will take the emotional energy that I felt for you and feel it for myself. And that will be my rebellion.”
“The thought of him with her - of them together - embedded in each other’s arms like two jigsaw pieces - tore through me. I couldn’t stand it. I wondered how he spoke to her; whether he was gentle like he was with me; whether he listened to her stories and committed them to memory; whether he danced with her in the middle of the street; whether he knew about her dreams. I wondered if he thought of her while grocery shopping; wrote her love letters; whether she inspired him; whether she brought out the best in him and challenged him. I wondered whether she was brave; kind; compassionate. I wondered whether she made him happy. But… then again it was none of my business - none of my business who he kissed, or held - or laughed with - or spun round in the streets - or woke up next too - or had feelings for - or made memories with - or loved. It was none of my business who he loved. And it killed me. It really did.”
