I wanted to be the person he told things to. I wanted him to think I was pretty, I wanted him to be reminded of me by stuff I liked-- pistachios and hooded sweatshirts and the Dylan song "Girl from the North Country"-- and I wanted him to miss me when we were apart. I wanted him to feel, when we were lying in bed together, like he couldn't imagine anywhere better.

I don't want to get over you. I guess I could take a sleeping pill and sleep at will, and not have to go through what I go through. I guess I should take
Prozac, right, and just smile all night at somebody new. Somebody not too bright but sweet and kind, who would try to get you off my mind. I could leave this
agony behind, which is just what I'd do if I wanted to but I don't want to get over you.