We Didn't Talk About Our Scars, The

In My Group Of Friends, I Was Always The One Who Remembered Everything. The Stories, The Boys My Friends And I Dated, All The Details. So I Think A Part Of Me Was Always Filing Them Away, Although At The Time I Wasn't Sure Why.

"so You're Always Honest," I Said. "aren't You?" "no," I Told Him. "i'm Not." "well, That's Good To Know, I Guess." "i'm Not Saying I'm A Liar," I Told Him. He Raised His Eyebrows. "that's Not How I Meant It, Anyways." "how'd You Mean It, Then?" "i Just...i Don't Always Say What I Feel." "why Not?" "because The Truth Sometimes Hurts," I Said. "yeah," He Said. "so Do Lies, Though."

I Can Say I Made A Lot Of Mistakes, But I Don't Regret Things. Because At Least I Didn't Spend A Life Standing Outside, Wondering What Living Would Be Like.

Her Life Was Perfect. But As Was Often The Case, The Rest Of Us Were Still Adjusting.

Too Many Locks, Not Enough Keys.