I know that, in your weaker moments, you’ve been overcome with frustration at the appearance of a wedding album on Facebook.
If you think it’s gross to put your mouth on a vagina, you are not mature enough to be having sex yet.
I hope you have someone to spend it with you who loves you, who cares about you, and who doesn’t have some allergic reaction to things going well like I do.
You don’t know if anything is particularly wrong with you, you just know that there is a storyline of love that everyone else gets to follow except for you.
I have never been called a slut by a man. I don’t know if that makes me exceptional, but it’s true to my experience.
My friends ask, “why don’t you delete him?” And I should. There would be a moment of weirdness, because we are friends in theory, but he would get over it. He would probably even understand.
We deserve more than tumultuous relationships that we believe are magical because they are complicated.
They don’t understand. They think they are helping, but they don’t get it.
When I call you and you don’t pick up and I call you again — maybe even four times — I know that I’m bothering you. I know that you think I’m the ‘crazy’ ‘needy’ girl that you have to gently let down again.
We choose not leaving our hometown because we think it guarantees us friends and comfort. We choose to stay in unfulfilling relationships because we think it guarantees we will never be alone.