Sometimes Love Can Be An Ugly Thing.

"i Don't Know," I Said. "what Else Did You Do For Your First Eighteen Years?" "like I Said," He Said As I Unlocked The Car, "i'm Not So Sure That You Should Go By My Example." "why Not?" "because I Have My Regrets," He Said. "also, I'm A Guy. And Guys Do Different Stuff." "like Ride Bikes?" I Said. "no," He Replied. "like Have Food Fights. And Break Stuff. And Set Off Firecrackers On People's Front Porches. And..." "girls Can't Set Off Firecrackers On People's Front Porches?" "they Can," He Said... "but They're Smart Enough Not To. That's The Difference."

When I Pictured Myself, It Was Always Like Just An Outline In A Colouring Book, With The Inside Not Yet Completed.

But I'd Long Ago Learned Not To Be Picky In Farewells. They Weren't Guaranteed Or Promised. You Were Lucky, More Than Blessed, If You Got A Good-bye At All.

Yes, It Sucked Getting Dumped. But Wasn't It Better To Just Be Brutally Honest? To Admit That Your Feeling For Someone Is Never Going To Be Powerful Enough To Justify Taking Up Any More Of Their Time? I Was Doing Him A Favor, Really. Freeing Him Up For A Better Opportunity. In Fact, I Was A Practically A Saint, If You Really Thought About It. Exactly.

It Was Always Late At Night, When Everything And Everyone Else Was Quiet, That Those Voices Would Rise Like Ghosts, Soft And Haunting, Filling Your Mind Until Sleep Finally Came.