She's lost in thought. I'm lost in her.

Before, when I looked at her, she was just the girl who was experiencing this weird phenomenon with me. Now when I look at her, she’s the girl I supposedly make love to. The girl I’ve apparently made love to for a while. The girl I apparently still love. I just wish I could remember what it’s supposed to feel like.

The only thing I have room for in this head of mine right now is the firm belief that fate absolutely exists. Fate…soul mates…time travel…you name it. It all exists. Because that’s what her kiss feels like. Existence.

Adults like to pretend that our feelings aren’t as big and important as theirs—that we’re too young to really know what we want. But I think what we want is similar to what they want. We want to find someone who believes in us. Who will take our side and make us feel less lonely.

Todo en ella es cautivante, como la consecuencia de una tormenta. No se supone que la gente obtenga placer de la destrucción que la madre naturaleza es capaz de hacer, pero queremos mirar de todos modos. Charlie es la devastación dejada a raíz de un tornado.

She's familiar. My only familiar thing in a world of inconsistency and confusion.