Taylor Jenkins Reid

“You and I aren’t going to spend our lives together,” Jesse says. “But I finally understand that that doesn’t take away any of the beauty of the fact that we were right for each other once.”

“True love doesn’t always last,” I say. “It doesn’t always have to be for a lifetime.”

“Right. And that doesn’t mean it’s not true love,” Jesse says.

It was real.

And now it’s over.

And that’s OK.

“I am who I am because I loved you once,” he says.

“I am who I am because I loved you once, too,” I say.

And then we say good-bye.

You can justify anything. If you’re narcissistic enough to believe that the universe conspires for and against you—which we all are, deep down—then you can convince yourself you’re getting signs about anything and everything

And she said, “A part of me wishes you wanted kids, because my kids make me so happy. But … I think in order to be happy like I’m happy, you need different things. And I want you to have whatever those things are.” And I started crying, then. Because somebody understood.

“Maybe we’re just cosmically linked,”

“Maybe we’re just cosmically linked,”

I knew that I would give myself to him, that I would bare my soul to him, that I would let him break my heart if that’s what it came to.

That’s when I fall apart. I don’t melt like butter or deflate like a tire. I shatter like glass, into thousands of pieces.

My heart is truly broken. And I know that even if it mends, it will look different, feel different, beat differently.

If he ever wanted to hold my hand, I’d never, ever, ever let go.

“Maybe. We could escape out of here. Go all Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Maybe. We could escape out of here. Go all Bonnie and Clyde.”