I wanted to tell you that I just--I miss you. And maybe that sounds ridiculous--like we barely know each other, but between the emails and texts and... everything else, I felt like we did. Like we do. and I miss--I don't know how else to say it--I miss both of you.

But girls willing to share your bed don't equal girls willing to put up with your random crap moods, listen to your exhaustive legal opinions, or support your life's goals the way someone who loves you would.

You're full of contradictions, Ms. Wallace."
I looked up at him and arched a brow. "I'm a girl. That's part of the job description, Mr. Maxfield.

That's how they say it: He loves you in his own way. Well, what about my way? What if I need for him to love me in my way?

Love is not the absence of logic
but logic examined and recalculated
heated and curved to fit
inside the contours of the heart

Something about first love defies duplication. Before it, your heart is blank. Unwritten. After, the walls are left inscribed and graffitied. When it ends, no amount of scrubbing will purge the scrawled oaths and sketched images, but sooner or later, you find that there’s space for someone else, between the words and in the margins.