Quotes About Vulnerability

So what makes you angry?` `Stupid people. Fake people. Mean people. Death. I worry about dying all the time. Like, all the time.

You have you let the tears come," she always says. "Because if you don't, they'll come out eventually – maybe not as tears, but as anger or something else.

I remember her smile and her laugh when I was my best self and she looked at me like I could do no wrong and was whole. I remember how she looked at me the same way even when I wasn't.

I take a good long look at her. I know life well enough to know you can't count on things staying around or standing still, no matter how much you want them to. You can't stop people from dying. You can't stop them from going away. You can't stop yourself from going away either. I know myself well enough to know that no one else can keep you awake or keep you from sleeping. That's all on me too. But man, I like this girl.

So what scares you most? With us?" I give this a little thought. "That you'll be really into me one day and the next day you won't be, and I won't see it coming. Because apparently feelings can change overnight. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm too much. Or maybe I'm not enough.

I can already feel myself falling hard, something I've been known to do. All because she smiled at me.

Loss does that, hits you out of the blue. You can be in the car or in class or at the movies, laughing and having a good time, and suddenly it's as if someone has reached directly into the wound and squeezed with all their might.

No one can bring me to tears faster than myself.

You know, that's what you've been doing in a way--coming out. Coming out of your room. Coming out of your house. Coming out of your shell.

She was my best friend." "I've never had one. What's it like?" "I don't know. I guess you can be yourself, whatever that means—the best and the worst of you. And they love you anyway. You can fight, but even when you're mad at them, you know they're not going to stop being your friend.

You never know what someone's hiding. We all hide ourselves when we need to.

Tell her what she wants to hear. But I don't because suddenly I can't do it anymore. She's exhausting and I'm exhausting, and we're exhausting. I've been telling her what she wants to hear for the past four years.

We tread water, looking at each other, and suddenly there's not enough water in the world to clean away my dirt thoughts.

You can't always be fine. No one's always fine. And I know you're used to being on your own, and I know I should have been a better friend so that you didn't have to get used to being on your own, but I'm here now, and I wish you'd talk to me

And I think: Love complicates everything. It makes you hurt and it makes you doubt and it makes you wish you didn't love. It makes you want to be watchful so that nothing bad or surprising ever happens, it makes you never want to love anyone again because they'll only hurt you too.

Be careful with that heart of yours

I remember her smile and her laugh when I was my best self and she looked at me like I could do no wrong and was whole. I remember how she looked at me the same way even when I wasn't. I remember her hand in mine and how that felt, as if something and someone belonged to me.

Overdrive for a girl I barely know, all because she's the first person I've met who seems to speak my language. A few words of it anyway.

My mouth is an inch from hers, and I wait for her to slap me or push me away, but then she closes her eyes, and that's when I know—I'm in. Okay

He throws his arms out over his head, fists clenched, and shouts: 'Open your eyes and look at me! I'm right bloody here!' He shouts all the things he hates and wants to change until his voice is hoarse. Then he nods over at me. 'Your turn.

He doesn't stop me as I walk away, and it's now and only now that I can think about what it is I'm feeling. Afraid, for one. Afraid. Afraid. Afraid. Unsettled. Mad at myself for starting to open up to this person I barely know. Mad at him for making me think I could open up. Stupid for believing I was different and he was different and this was different in any way.

Innocence is an infinitely fragile thing and thought can sometimes injure, even destroy it. - Pg. 254

I love you, he said, his voice catching. When I thought you were going to die, I wanted to die.

She still remembered sitting for hours as a little girl and pretending to be a hassock. A foot stool. Because if she could just stay very small, and very quiet, her mother would forget she was there, and then she wouldn't scream about people and places and things that had gone wrong.