In The End, Though, Maybe It's Not

I Just Can't Ever Be A Free Spirit And Just Relax. When It Comes To Work, This Is Good. I'm Very Disciplined, Which With Writing Is Often Half The Battle, Or More. But It Also Means That If I Want To, Say, Play Hooky And Chocolate And Watch Bravo All Afternoon, I Feel Horribly Guilty. I Wish I Could Find A Nice Balance.

He Doesn’t Love Me. He Might Still Love Me As I Was At Fifteen, When I Didn’t Know Any Better. When I Trusted Everyone. I’m Not That Person Any More. He’s Just A Boy. He Was The First To Really Hurt Me, But He’s Just A Boy. There Were A Lot Of Them.

The Fate Of Your Heart Is Your Choice And No One Else Gets A Vote

I'm Incredibly Flattered When People Tell Me That My Books Helped Them Through High School. Because Of My Own Experience, The Thought That Something I Wrote Might Help Someone Who Felt The Way I Did When I Was A Teen...that's Huge. It Awes Me.

That Sucks, Though," Wes Said Finally, His Voice Low. "you're Just Setting Yourself Up To Fail, Because You'll Never Get Everything Perfect." "says Who?" He Just Looked At Me. "the World," He Said, Gesturing All Around Us, As If This Party, This Deck Encompassed It All. "the Universe. There's Just No Way. And Why Would You Want Everything To Be Perfect, Anyway?" "i Don't Want Everything To Be Perfect," I Said. Just Me, I Thought. Somehow. "i Just Want—