I Just Write The Books That I

But I Never Thought Of Who He Wasn't, I Never Had To Explain Or Defend Him To Myself, I Didn't Even Care What We Talked About.

I'm Not Afraid Of Writing About Sensitive Subjects, But I Want To Be Careful How I Do So And I Know Not All Readers Will Think I Have Been, Of Course.

..and I Thought How Liking A Boy Was Just The Same As Believing You Wanted To Know A Secret - Everything Was Better When You Were Denied And Could Feel Tormented By Curiousity Or Loneliness. But The Moment Of Something Happening Was Treacherous. It Was Just So Tiring To Have To Worry About Whether Your Face Was Peeling, Or To Have To Laugh At Stories That Weren’t Funny.

Perhaps This Is How You Know You're Doing The Thing You're Intended To: No Matter How Slow Or How Slight Your Progress, You Never Feel That It's A Waste Of Time.

I Actually Liked The Disolation Of Winter; It Was The Season When It Was Okay To Be Unhappy. If I Were To Ever Kill Myself, I Thought It Would Be In The Summer.