When you meet someone so different from yourself, in a good way, you don't even have to kiss to have fireworks go off. It's like fireworks in your heart all the time. I always wondered, do opposites really attract? Now I know for sure they do. I'd grown up going to the library as often as most people go to the grocery store. Jackson didn't need to read about exciting people or places. He went out and found them, or created excitement himself if there wasn't any to be found. The things I like are pretty simple. Burning CDs around themes, like Songs to Get You Groove On and Tunes to Fix a Broken Heart; watching movies; baking cookies; and swimming. It's like I was a salad with a light vinaigrette, and Jackson was a platter of seafood Cajun pasta. Alone, we were good. Together, we were fantastic.
Guilt reminds me of a stray cat. You chase it away and yet, it comes back when you least expect it. If you let yourself feel pity for it and feed the thing, it parks its ugly, puny, lonely-for-attention butt on your doormat and won't go away. Scat kitty cat, scat. I don't need you sitting around here like that.
We have a lot of questions, and we want to understand.Music helps with that .Music helps with everything.
It's hard to be happy in the now when you can't stop worrying about the future. What I want is to trust that everything will work out. To believe with all my heart that I'll end up where I belong.
I hear the word in the hallover and over again.Suicide.Suicide.Suicide.Did he or didn’t he?Everyone’s got a guess.Still no one knows for sure, except Gabe, but he’s not talking. Why does it even matter? He’s gone. His, ours, theirs— blame needs a place. His, ours, theirs— pain all over the place. His, ours, theirs— forgiveness missing from this place.
Three boys. Three deaths. One school. We've made the national news. Is out school cursed? Are we a reckless bunch of fools? The media asks questions no one can answer. Kids can't stop crying.
See that's exactly why I don't want a dog. Why? Because it'll just die. Everybody dies, Brooklyn. Like that makes it okay or something.
After Lucca died, everything shut down. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't talk. Somehow they got me on the plane and back home.
«I’ve never been to a funeral until today. I see dazzling arrangements of red, yellow, and purple flowers with long, green stems. I see a stained-glass window with a white dove, a yellow sun, a blue sky. I see a gold cross, standing tall, shiny, brilliant. And I see black. Black dresses. Black pants. Black shoes. Black bibles. Black is my favorite color. Jackson asked me about it one time.“Ava, why don’t you like pink? Or yellow? Or blue?” ”I love black,” I said. ”It suits me.” ”I suit you,” he said. I’m not so sure I love black anymore.And then, beyond the flowers, beneath the stained-glass window, beside the cross, I see the white casket. I see red, burning love disappear forever. As we pull away, my eyes stay glued to the casket. It’s proof that sometimes life does not go on. I look around. If tears could bring him back, there’d be enough to bring him back a hundred times. That’s not what I’m thinking. I’m thinking, I hate good-byes. It’s like I was a garden salad with a light vinaigrette, and Jackson was a platter of seafood Cajun pasta. Alone, we were good. Together, we were fantastic.Memories might keep him alive. But they might kill me.»
And then it hits me like a fast, open-palmed, stinging smack in the face.Having a ghost boyfriend WASweird
And what I think is thatwhen you’re completely aloneand deep inside yourselfwith feelings no one else can understand,there really aren’t a hundred places to go. It’s like if I woke up one dayand looked outside and saw purple treesand red grass and green dogs,is there anyone I could tell who would understand? No.There’d be no one.It’s exactly like that. He saw purple treesand red grass and green dogswhile no one else did. And maybe, he just got tiredof seeing them.
Memories fall like snowflakes upon my dreams. The snowflakes toss and tumble, each different and yet the same.
I like the memories because they remind meI haven't always beenthis girl,constantly mad or scaredor confused.
He was a character.A character who should still be here. Damn it all to hell.He should still be here.
When you meet someoneso different from yourself,in a good way,you don’t even have to kissto have fireworks go off.
WRAP ME UPI shiver.He pulls away.Are you cold? he asks.A little.Plus... you know.What?Um... your kisses?He laughs,pulls me downonto the blanketand wraps his armsand legs around me.Perfect.My kind of blanket.
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ME AND YOUWhen I hold a rose,I see the soft, velvety petalsand smile, becausetucked betweenthose precious petalsis a special gift -the one of a fragrance,pure and sweet.When you hold a rose,you see the thornsalong the stem,and you frownbecause those thornscan bring you painand cause you to bleed.I see the gift.You see the tragedy.More and moreI fear that one of these dayssomeone will hand me a roseand all I will seeare thorns.Talk about tragedy.
He cups my facewith both handsleans in,eyes lingering asweet secondbefore his lips are there on mine,teasing, playing, tasting, kissing.When he pulls away,I'm breathless.He nuzzles my ear.Now that's thrilling.You got that right.