That's when I finally got it. I finally understood. It wasn't the thought that counted. It was the actual execution that mattered, the showing up for somebody. The intent behind it wasn't enough. Not for me. Not anymore. It wasn't enough to know that deep down, he loved me. You had to actually say it to somebody, show them you cared. And he just didn't. Not enough.
Jenny HanTag: love relationships lovers dependability
It's the imperfections that make things beautiful
Jenny HanTag: love awesome we-ll-always-have-summer
i worried he'd let go, but he didn't. We held hands like this the whole rest of the way home.
Jenny HanTag: wonderful lovely fantastic-writing
That night I dreamed of Conrad. I was the same age I was now, but he was younger, ten or eleven maybe. I think he might even have been wearing
overalls. We played outside my house until it got dark, just running around the yard.
I said, “Susannah will be wondering where you are. You should go home.” He said, “I can’t. I don’t know how.
Will you help me?” And then I was sad, because I didn’t know how either. We weren’t at my house anymore, and it was so dark. We were in the
woods. We were lost.
When I woke up, I was crying and Jeremiah was asleep next to me. I sat up in the bed. It was dark, the only light in the room was my alarm clock. It
read 4:57. I lay back down.
Maybe that was how it was with all first loves. They own a little piece of your heart, always. Conrad at twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, even seventeen years old.
Jenny HanI would rather have had someone shoot me in the head with a nail gun, repeatedly, than have to watch the two of them cuddling on the couch together all night. --Conrad
Jenny HanI stared at him. Did he really say that? Did he remember? The way he looked back at me, one eyebrow raised, I knew he did. And this time, I was the one to look away.
Because I remembered. I remembered everything.
How do you regret one of the best nights of your entire life? You don't. You remember every word, every look. Even when it hurts, you still remember.
Jenny HanWould you rather live one perfect day over and over or live your life with no perfect days but just decent ones?
Jenny HanTag: life inspirational friends love
I couldn't even be mad at him, because this was who he was. This was who he'd always been. He'd never lied about that. He gave and then he took away. I felt it in the pit of my stomach, the familiar ache, that lost, regretful feeling only he could give me. I never wanted to feel it again. Never, ever. Maybe this was why I came, so I could really know. So I could say good-bye.
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