I was usually dating someone.
I was the rebel.
I was kind of a loner.
I had good grades and great friends.
I was popular.
I had a few friends who helped pull me out of my shell.
"I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me." — S.E. Hinton
"What makes the desert beautiful . . . is that somewhere it hides a well . . . " — Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings." — Shakespeare
"Under love's heavy burden do I sink." — Shakespeare
"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." — F. Scott Fitzgerald
"There is not love of life without despair about life." — Albert Camus
Immediately pulls out a weapon of some kind.
Grabs your hand and runs the other way.
Shields you with his body.
Throws one hard punch at the guy and knocks him out.
Offers the attacker everything he has.
Tries to reason with the person.
Uh, not well. At all.
He doesn't really get jealous.
It kills him inside but outwardly he is kind.
He is so happy to be with me, he is OK with everything.
He has bigger things to worry about.
He makes a sarcastic comment but is confident in himself.