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I don't know how I know that, but I do. I can feel the beat of that truth inside me. Taste it bitter on my tongue. Sometimes, like now, I didn't think I want to know who I really am.

Elizabeth Scott

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Elizabeth Scott
Truth
Feel
Bitter
Sometimes
Beat
Feels
Tongue
Really
Beats
Think
Taste
Thinking
Inside
Like
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I liked him first, but it doesn't matter. I still like him. That doesn't matter either. Or at least, it's not supposed to.
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It could be enough, maybe, or at least a start, but the problem is that at night I tumble into dreams that aren't dreams at all. I tumble into memories and wake up aching for a dying world and a quiet, cold life that offered me nothing but sitting in a still room.
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Too late, too late, juice pouring does not a kind soul make, and I killed you.
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I wants us to be real. I want to be just you and me. - Ryan
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You ready? Evan asks, and he's looking at me, and I love his hair, I love his smile, I lo--I Love You, I say, and as I watch his smile bloom I finally get how great those three little words are. I finally get what they really mean.
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I never went for the talkers.
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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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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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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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I know who I want to be with, and it isn't her. - Ryan
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...sometimes, you have to break your own heart.
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You're right . . . you can't go back. No matter how much you want to, you never can
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And you… do you know what you are?” “Stupid?” “Beautiful,” he says, his face turning red.
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Cute is one of those words people use when they know you're smart enough to realize you've got so much personality means you're ugly.
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Sometimes being me is very confusing.
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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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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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Why do people think being with someone is the answer to everything?
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I think you’re the saddest person I’ve ever met. It’s like you’re drowning in it.
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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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