Need

My insides are hollow. My insides are hollow because I’ve been too scared of living and going on, which is totally self-indulgent and awful

You’re allowed to whine.”

“No, I’m not. I hate whining. I have nothing to whine about, especially not to you.

“I know all about the pixies,” I say, working on the knots that bind his feet. “I do not give a rat’s ass about the pixies.

“There was a dog here. He’s hurt. That blanket you’re wearing, where did you get it? Did you steal it from the dog? Because that was really uncool. He’s hurt.”

Hearts betray you like that. This is why it’s perfectly acceptable to be cardiophobic, afraid of hearts.

But I’m not a damsel and there is no distress.”
Then I fall asleep, which was ridiculously bad timing of course, because the conversation is just getting interesting.

“I don’t hate you,” he says. “That’s not it at all.”
“What is it then? Are you a victim of parthenophobia?”
“Parthenophobia?”
“Fear of girls.”
“You are so strange.”

I lean against the door that is quiet and doesn’t complain about things or your behavior or anything like that. Doors are very good that way.

who am I to decide that my life is worth more than someone else’s?”

“Yoko! Do not do this to me!”
Wait. I’ve named the car. Why Yoko? I have no idea. Yoko was always there for John, unlike the way the Subaru is here for me.