Mum liked to say that some things happen for a reason, that sometimes obstacles were there to stop you from doing something stupid.

Life after love was possible. I was proof. Loss taught you about yourself, burrowed in the dark parts of your soul and ate you from the inside out.

There were so many different versions of him. It was countless versions of a song, and they were all original, and they were all true, and they were all right. It should have been impossible. Was I supposed to love them all?

It was her eyes and my eyes and I felt a surging sensation of rightness, of saying the right thing at the right time to the right person.

Please kiss that girl a million times.

I hated this. I hated knowing what I wanted and knowing what was right and knowing that they weren't the same thing.