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I'll always remember taking your hand and telling you that everything would be okay.

Elizabeth Scott

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Elizabeth Scott
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Hope was supposed to be a good thing, but it was starting to feel like every other four-letter word you're not supposed to say.
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I have been smashed and put back together so many times nothing works right. Nothing is where it should be, heavy thumping in my shoulder where my heart now beats.
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I felt nothing all the time, and it had started to feel normal. It should have scared me, but it didn't.
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Okay, I guess you can come in. Um, Hannah, you have to, you know, open the front door so I can actually come in. I thought you were going to - you're standing under my window. Aren't you supposed to climb up here or something? My ladder's at home. Also, you call throwing rocks at your window clichéd?
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I'd forgotten how much feelings hurt.
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But I know a lie when I hear one.
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There are a million rules for being a girl. There are a million things you have to do to get through each day. High school has things that can trip you up, ruin you, people say one thing and mean another, and you have to know all the rules, you have to know what you can and can't do.
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And what if---what are you if the people who are supposed to love you can leave you like you're nothing?
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The sun will rise tomorrow. It always does, and all the wishing in the world for the way things were, or for what they could have been, won't change that. It won't change how things are.
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She looked at me for real and saw I was serious. She saw I knew she was for me like you know that tomorrow morning the sun will rise.
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It was like we were all so busy trying to be happy or saying we were happy, but underneath there was nothing but bitterness, the kind that could only be bled out in ink, in unspoken word.
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And yet here I am. Broken and bleeding on the inside, heartsick, I am here.
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Check it out. I got a new name tag today. He unclipped it and held it out toward me. I looked at it. A. GUY. He grinned. Someone actually asked me what the A stood for, he said, his hand brushing mine as he took the tag back, sliding it into his pocket. I said Larry.
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What had been became what was and a story only works when you know the ending. When the people in it don’t seem like pretend. When you can think about that girl and how she was once upon a time, and see her. When you don’t already know the story is a lie.
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...sometimes, you have to break your own heart.
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Why do people think being with someone is the answer to everything?
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This is the real unwritten rule: You don't want what you know you shouldn't. And I haven't just broken that rule. I have wrecked it, smashed it, and still... And still I want.
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Grace is my favourite church word. A state of being. Something you can pray for. Something God can grant. Something you can obtain. Perfection is out of reach. But grace -- grace you can reach for.
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How come you like Josh so much anyway? All he does is sit around drinking overpriced coffee and bitching about how awful things are He cares about the world. If he cared about the world, he'd donate the ten thousand dollars he must spend on coffee every year to charity. That would be doing something.
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She became a story, one I have mostly forgotten. One I can't end because she died a long time ago.
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