st

I like flaws and feel more comfortable around people who have them. I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.

I brandished my parasol at him like a rapier. ‘You, sir, are an abominable scalawag of a man, and I’ll be damned if I let you threaten me.’

Some people are uncomfortable with silences. Not me. I’ve never cared much for call and response. Sometimes I will think of something to say and then I ask myself; is it worth it? And it just isn’t.

If somebody likes me, I want them to like the real me, not what they think I am. And I don’t want them to carry it around inside. I want them to show me, so I can feel it, too. I want them to be able to do whatever they want around me.

I know that’s what people say—you’ll get over it. I’d say it, too. But I know it’s not true. Oh, you’ll be happy again, never fear. But you won’t forget.

But I think it’s very healthy to spend time alone. You need to know how to be alone and not be defined by another person.

To do anything truly worth doing, I must not stand back shivering and thinking of the cold and danger, but jump in with gusto and scramble through as well as I can.