The familiar (if loud) churn of the engine made it hard to talk, especially with the windows open (the air-conditioning didn’t work), but the day was warm and they blasted the music and sang along. Nessa loved singing at full volume. She couldn’t carry a tune, but with Bree it didn’t matter.
Let me put it more artistically, with greater sophistication:They left us in the toilet. In the deepest pile of shit. And we're coated in the crappy residue of their desicions. But that does not mean we are the one who pooped, Moritz. And neither are we the poop.Never think that. We're not the poop.
Who'd have thoght I could miss someone I've never actually met? Me. I've thought that. I miss tons of things I've never seen, and now you most of all.
I’d do anything for her if she really wanted me to. I would even walk away from the chance of a lifetime if she asked me to... and I could even be happy about it.
Maybe we're on the wrong side of some metaphorical bridge where the grass is crusty and not grass at all, but sharp little spines of glass. I dunno, Moritz.But the one little speck of green that I get is your letters, so please never stop writing me.You got that?Never stop.Because you'll never meet me and it's the closest we can get.