You want to feel loved. And cared for. You want there to be someone out there who misses you. But you’re looking for validation in the wrong places. You’re not going to feel more alive and less invisible just because someone kisses you a few times and tells you they missed you.
We survive the most epic pain. We embrace it instead of ignoring it.
Regret is a funny thing. It sticks to us like honey, even after we’ve washed our hands of it.
After growing tired of having to fight for your time, I ended it over text message on the suspicion that your interest had almost entirely disappeared.
Sixth grade is a trying year for any preteen.