Lisa Unger

She said: “Anyone who asks you to keep a secret from your mom—a teacher, a friend, a stranger, anyone—is not looking out for you. No good person would ever ask you to do that.”

Things didn’t seem real unless they were written in ink on paper. Words on a screen floated, seemed virtual and insubstantial. Ink sank in and stayed, rooted in the real world.

More than anything else, resentment was the death of love.

The amazing thing about the internet was that it was alive with all the ideas and conversations and questions in the universe.

“We almost never feel ready for any of life’s passages. And yet we often must move through them all the same.”

“Life is an impossible twist of choice and circumstance, one rarely exists without the other.”

But deep down inside where he might hold a little bit of love or affection for her, there was only a cold, angry feeling.

She had no idea that they were never going to see each other again. He had always been an excellent liar.

The smart phone dad—always taking pictures and posting beautiful filtered shots on Facebook and Instagram for others to admire, forgetting almost entirely to look with his own eyes.

“We can’t control how events unfold, even through constant vigilance. Watching and waiting will only serve to rob us of the joy of the normal, good days.”