Elizabeth Scott
Elizabeth Scott
hurt feelings looks
He looks trapped, helpless and furious, and that’s a feeling I know too well. Know how much it hurts. Know how it holds you down, how every day there are a thousand little ways to see there is nothing you can do to change who or what you are.
growing-up real teenager
I always wanted to be grown up. When I was little I couldn’t wait to be a teenager and go to high school. When I got there I wanted to be done with it, wanted to get out into the world, the real one, and live in it. The thing is, that world doesn’t exist. All growing up means is that you realize no one will come along to fix things. No one will come along to save you.
wish feels
I didn't feel anything watching him go. I didn't even wish I did.
talkers
I never went for the talkers.
want matter
You're right . . . you can't go back. No matter how much you want to, you never can
believe knows who-you-are
You know who you are you just have to believe it.
trying want matter
So, you're telling me that no matter what, you can't be happy? Well, darling, it's no wonder you're miserable. It's what you want...So then try (to be happy).
fashion real school
I suppose he's making a real fashion statement, but this is high school. You're not supposed to be real. You're supposed to be enough like everyone else to get through and out into the waiting world.
wish world way
The sun will rise tomorrow. It always does, and all the wishing in the world for the way things were, or for what they could have been, won't change that. It won't change how things are.
mother father love-you
Look at me. We aren´t them lauren. You´re not your mother or father any more than I´m my mother. You´re you and I´m me and I love you.
fall thinking wish
I wish it had never happened because then I wouldn't think about it as I'm falling asleep.
fall heart wind
..."Are you okay?" he says, still looking at me, and I feel my smile slip, fade, and the silence that falls over us then is so total I can’t hear anything, not the rush-hiss of my heart pounding in my chest, not the sounds all around us; insects, wind, and the distant clatter of others’ lives in houses built close but not too close because when we look out our windows we all like to pretend that everything we see is ours. But Ryan is not mine.
thinking perfect people
I don’t know, shifted a little or something, smoothed down–people would think of me the way they think of Dave, and everything would always be perfect. I would be perfect.
chocolate wish stories
The story of my life can be told in silver: in chocolate mills, serving spoons, and services for twelve. The story of my life has nothing to do with me. The story of my life is things. Things that aren’t mine, that won’t ever be mine. It’s all I’ve ever known. I wish it wasn’t.