Normal People

All these years they’ve been like two little plants sharing the same plot of soil, growing around one another, contorting to make room, taking certain unlikely positions

It’s money, though, isn’t it? The substance that makes the world real. It’s so corrupt and sexy.

I feel like I’m walking around trying on a hundred different versions of myself. It’s just not working. Then I think about home, and school. I can’t connect this life and that. It just doesn’t fit.

Just because people treat you badly at times, and I include myself in that, by the way, it doesn’t mean you deserve to be treated badly.
A lot of people love you and care about you.

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