It is not mysterious to be home on a Saturday night, reading a novel in a pile of smelly golden retrievers.
Our kiss was electric and soft, and tentative and certain, terrifying and exactly right.
They had the best educations, a thousand chances, a thousand connections, and still they’d ended up unable to support themselves. None of them did anything useful in the world.
E. Lockhart, We Were Liars (via quotasia
There is not even a Scrabble word for how bad I feel.
It’s okay. I don’t actually care what you think, so it’s perfectly okay.