I wished the past had been recorded like my football games. Then I could rewatch it all, rewind to the moment everything changed.
People leave, Brett. It’s not our fault for not giving them a reason to stay. It’s their fault for not finding one.
“Stop pulling me!” I hissed, tugging back on Brett’s arm. “I’m going to trip and drown.”“The water’s not even a foot deep, Becca.”Whatever!
Brett Wells walked into class the same way the sun pours in through a window, slow and captivating. Time seemed to stop as he smiled at the teacher and made his way to the desk in front of mine. I glanced at the clock to make sure it hadn’t. Just in case.
Could love really make the world stop? Why did it make every female character feel alive? Wasn’t she alive before she met him? Or was she in some zombie-like, comatose state? How did love change that, and more importantly, why couldn’t I seem to get enough of this unrealistic crap?
if love couldn’t exist in reality, at least it was alive in fiction.
I had gotten into the habit of ending every day with the same question: Was it worth remembering or forgetting?
хватит уже думать...чувствуй
Потом я снова взглянула на семью за столиком и вдруг поняла, что не все можно вписать в рамки. Что жизнь не обязана умещаться в одни только аккуратные и безупречные коробки. Случается, что у этой самой коробки нет одной из стенок или она прилеплена скотчем. И не страшно, если на уголках вмятины, а наверху прилеплена наклейка с текстом "ХРУПКОЕ".
Иногда люди уходят. И мы не виноваты в том, что не подарили им причину остаться. Виноваты они - в том, что даже не стали ее искать.