Naomi and Ely's No Kiss List

It’s a total lie to say there’s only one person you’re going to be with for the rest of your life.

If you’re lucky – and if you try really hard – there will always be more than one.

Friendship is love as much as any romance. And like any love, it’s difficult and treacherous and confusing.

I feel like I know her. Really know her. And part of really knowing her is also knowing that I don’t necessarily know her as well as I think I do. Which is okay. We should each have our own damn souls.

There’s no such thing as a soulmate . . . and who would want there to be? I don’t want half of a shared soul. I want my own damn soul.

I think I’m going to learn to appreciate the word close. Because that’s what Naomi and I are. We’re close. Not all the way there. Not identical. Not soulmates. But close. Because that’s as far as you should ever get with another person: very, very close.

That’s what I want with Bruce, too.

I want to be close.

It’s bullshit to think of friendship and romance as being different. They’re not. They’re just variations of the same love. Variations of the same desire to be close.

She smells like marijuana smoke. It’s not a bad smell. Just a sad one.

If I was her boyfriend, I’d keep her stimulated in much healthier ways.

Musically. Physically. Spiritually.

Dude, you’re probably overreacting, because this girl is smart, and no way is she wanting to get with a fuckup like you.

To let go would be a murder of what once was.

I’m so tired of being uncool. You can dress me up, give me a cool boyfriend, even laugh at one of my jokes every now and then—but the anxiety always gives it away.

You didn’t love me, but life goes on, just like the song says.

Hands in his hair, fingers touching the back of his head, I know this is not love.

But I am afraid—I am amazed—that it could be.

I wish my heart were titanium, too.