And the secret is, this will hurt less and less each time until you can’t feel a thing.

Inside I’m breaking, outside I’m shaking. But my smile stays on, the show must go on.

So the nights get a little bit longer, and the drinks get a little bit stronger, and soon we start to forget all our problems.

Can’t lose what you never had, can’t keep what’s not yours, and can’t hold onto something that does not want to stay.

I wonder how long it would take for anyone to notice if I just stopped talking.

You asked me how I could possibly remember and I asked you how you could possibly forget.

Don’t worry. You may think you’ll never get over it, but you also thought it would last forever.

There are some things you can’t bring yourself to leave, until they leave you.

She gave him one last glance and then walked out of his life forever.

One day you are going to miss me chasing you, you’re going to miss my annoyingness, you’re going to miss how much I cared about you. You’re going to miss me.

Maybe some people don’t change, you just never knew who they really were.

I’m not even sad this time. I’m not upset, hurt or angry. I’m honestly just tired, exhausted actually. I’m tired of putting in more effort than I receive. I tired of believing all of you’re lies and you proving me wrong every time. I’m tired of getting my hopes up and being disappointed again.

And all of it came down to one thing, love, or the lack of it. The chances we take, knowing no better, to fall or to stand back and hold ourselves in, protecting our hearts with the tightest grips.

I hate how I can’t imagine anything with anyone else because I imagined it all with you.

This isn’t me hating love. This isn’t me holding a grudge against love or being hurt by love. There are no hard feelings. This is simply me giving up on love.

If you want him to stop running, you’ve got to stop chasing.

I do as I please, I lie through my teeth; someone might get hurt, but it won’t be me.

Suddenly people who say they’re always gonna be there, disappear.

Your worst battle is that between what you know and how you feel.

You were a dream. Then a reality. Now a memory.

I gave up on you long before I broke up with you.

We fell in love, despite our differences, and once we did, something rare and beautiful was created. For me, love like that has only happened once, and that’s why every minute we spent together has been seared in my memory. I’ll never forget a single moment of it.

You’ve gotten so caught up in being alone that you’re afraid of what might happen if you actually find someone that can take you away from it.

We both know that we could never be together. We’re much too different and it isn’t the kind of thing that the world makes exceptions for. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less when we catch each others eyes and then quickly have to look away.

I know how you feel: disappointed, stupid, and foolish. Just when you think he could be everything you ever wanted, he turns out to be someone you never thought he’d be. It hurts to know you let your walls down for nothing.

You said “I never meant to hurt you”, but you and I both know that doesn’t really matter.

Don’t worry about what you heard about me. I might have done a little dirt and left a few of them hurt, but whatever has occurred they all got what they deserved.

Even though you think you’re finally over that boy, and you think you like someone else, you start reading quotes and it’s still that same boy that pops into your head. Not the new one.

I want to know what color of paint is on your bedroom walls. I want to know whether you cross your legs when you watch your favorite show. I want to know what your fingers would feel like in mine. I want to know what your hair looks like when you wake up in the morning. I want to know what books made you cry. I want to know your favorite architect. I want to know how hard you can hug. But most of all I want to know if you want to know the same things about me.

I’m a happy person. I swear I am. I sing in the shower. And dance down the hallways. I laugh and giggle. I do all the things happy people do. I just love life, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss him. It doesn’t mean that I don’t wish things had ended differently. And it doesn’t mean that I don’t get upset over the fact that he doesn’t miss me at all. No, it doesn’t mean that at all.

Sometimes I still can’t believe that you were mine, even for a little while.

When you run out of whores, don’t expect me to be there.

And the price of a memory is the sorrow it brings.