“there will be a boy. he will not put butterflies in your stomach. instead he will make them fly out your mouth. you will call him your muse. he will be foreign, far away, and inviting. he will chain smoke like your great aunt but you will picture him smelling like your fathers old shirts. he will call you beautiful. after the fifth time you will believe him. you will write about him as if he were your mona lisa. he will be a wrecker of homes and hearts. you will not know you are only his type and not his match. you will never kiss him. he will stay with you like a bad sunburn. he will fade. he will find another. he will forget. you will pretend that he once considered you his. you will still write about him. you will still leave your bedroom window open at night. you will still order black coffee. he will ruin you.”

-b.e.fitzgerald