Holly Riordan

She doesn’t see her friends as often as she wants to, because she’s so damn busy.

“Cats were arranged into a spiral pattern on the wall. He had collected their eyes into a bowl in front of it.”

“Get Out. I just saw it the other night and it is that type of horror that doesn’t rely on the paranormal but the fucked up human mind and it uses jump scares like it should, to put the audience on edge.”

I hate how much trouble I have talking to people. I hate how uncomfortable I feel in social situations. I hate how I constantly feel like I don’t belong.

She might come across as clingy, but that’s only because she likes to latch onto the good things in life.

You see, those times when she felt the weakest were actually her strongest moments. Because she suffered through them and made it out alive.

If you try to make plans with him in advance, he tells you that he’s not sure if he’ll be free. He’s trying to keep his options open. He doesn’t want to make plans with you in case a better opportunity comes along.

He lets you borrow his sweatshirts.

You’re single, because you refuse to accept compliments. You refuse to believe that anyone could find you attractive.

Boys call her emotional, because it’s easier to dismiss her feelings than to deal with them. It’s easier to call her psycho than to think about the words she said and find the truth hidden inside them.

Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night and have no idea what’s bothering me. I just feel fear. Fear for my life. Fear for my future.

When he sees you in person, he flirts with you nonstop and tells you how much fun you are to be around. But when you’re out of sight, it’s like you’re out of mind. He rarely contacts you first.

Unfortunately, her kindness can come across as obsessive. It might seem like she is clingy and desperate and in need of his attention — but that’s not the reality at all.

If you can find a dog at a party, you’ll spend all of your time on the floor with it. It beats having small talk with strangers that you’ll probably never see again.

I know it’s only a matter of time until I crack and contact you. Until I break my streak of acting like you’re a stranger.

It looked like blood, except it was the wrong color. Too thick. It almost felt like the slime we used to play with as kids. The kind that stuck to the wall and crawled its way down.

I find something to complain about, even when my life is going well. Even when the only complaints I have are about petty little things, things that most people would call me crazy for even noticing.

You’re always counting down. You keep track of the days until vacation. The hours until you can climb back into bed. The minutes left until the show you’re watching is over. You keep looking at the clock and calendar instead of enjoying what’s right in front of you.