You dump trash. You dump yard waste and old ripped couches that smell like body odor and forgetfulness. You dump cigarette butts and banana peels and hazardous waste. But people?

Maybe the problem with lying is that once you start faking it, it's impossible to tell where the make-believe you ends and the real you begins. It's hard to be who you are, but it's even harder to keep up the lie.

I have a theory that the world is broken up into two kinds of people."
"Yeah?"
"Yep. On the one side are the people who love the Harry Pottery books and wish that they could attend Hogwarts and have Ron and Hermione for best friends and vanquish Death Eaters and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
She's smiling at me, and she's just so fucking cute. I have to ask: "And the other side?"
Aimee shrugs. "Douchebags.

I'm dumping the whole box back into your life Ed, every item of you and me. I'm dumping this box on your porch, Ed, but it's you, Ed, who is getting dumped.

Everybody's in love when they're eighteen. And everybody gets dumped.

Being aware sucks.