“I hate that just because you happen to be good at something, people automatically think that’s what makes you happy, but it’s not really like that, you know? It’s not that simple.”
“He’s not the hero and he’s not the enemy and he’s not a god. He’s just a boy. And I’m just a girl, a girl who needs to pick up her own pieces and put them back together herself.”
“I can hear him breathing on the other side of the door,breathing oddly,like,unevenly. But,no,it’s not him just breathing,I realize slowly. He’s crying. And I kneel there on the other side of the door that might as well be the other side of the galaxy,feeling so empty,so dead inside.”
“Maybe He’ll get what he deserves. Maybe Not. Maybe I’ll never find it in my heart to forgive him. And maybe there’s nothing wrong with that,either. All those maybes swimming around my head make me think that “maybe” could just be another word for hope.”
“No, can’t cry. Because there’s nothing to cry about. Because it was just a dream. A bad dream. A nightmare. Not real. Not real. Not real. That’s what I keep thinking: NotRealNotRealNotReal. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Like a mantra. Like a prayer.”