I don’t want you to forget about me. It’s selfish, isn’t it? How I try my best to get you off my mind, how I listen to loud music so I can drown out the sound of your laughter that still vibrates in my ears, how I cut my hair and dyed it to pretend you never pushed strands of it off my forehead, how I burned the photos and the letters until nothing but ash was left. Yet I hope you remember my eyes when you look at the moon, hope you remember the way my hand perfectly fit into yours, remember how we thought we would last forever. Until we didn’t. Until we broke apart. And I hope you forget about this, about the ugly fights, the high pitched screaming and the bad words and think about the good times instead. But you won’t. I know you can’t keep the good memories in mind and pretend the bad ones don’t exist. No matter how much I wish you could. And no matter how much I want you to remember me while I forget about you - that’s not the way it works. And I wish it was, because I can’t run from you without ending up right where I started. And I’m sick of running.

Darling, running back to the same hands that broke you, will not heal you.

He looked at her like she was the moon, like she was made of wonder and beauty, like she was something not everyone knew how to love.