Memory is a tenuous thing. . . . flickering glimpses, blue and white, like ancient, decomposing 16mm film. Happiness escapes me there,… — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
Eyes Tell Stories But do they know how to craft fiction? Do they know how to spin lies? His eyes swear forever,… — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
If I come back to you now, can we be what we were before life’s uncertain rhythms tore us so far apart?… — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
If all you can promise me is today, I'll take it and hope for tomorrow. — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
HAPPY EVER AFTER is a concept I'll never believe in. I would be content to sample some little taste of happiness today,… — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
“I've been alone since my mom met Scott. He sucked the nectar from her heart like a famished butterfly. No nurture, no nourishment left… — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
I wonder how long it would take him to realize I'm right as sin - it's the rest of the world that's wrong. I'm… — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
Do you know how beautiful you are?' I shook my head 'I'm not. But you make me fell like I am.' I wanted to… — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
That's what I'll be. A silhouette, rarely seen, and yet believed in. — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
One foot in front of the other, counting tiles on the floor so I don't have to focus the blur of painted smiles, fake… — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
...life is all about chances. You might be safer not taking any. But playing it totally safe means you're only existing. Not living. I… — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
The truth is, I don't have a real clue what love is - how to find it, how to give it. Once upon a… — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
But death doesn't scare me. To know exactly when I might expect it, up close and in my face, would actually be a comfort.… — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
So You Want to Know All about her. Who she really is. (Was?) Why she swerved off the high road. Hard left to nowhere,… — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
“I don’t belong here. I know that. But I don’t belong anywhere else, either. And that is at the heart of the black depression… — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
Six months since we met up again we are inseparable, an intricate weave. No longer do I believe this is a temporary fling. More… — Ellen Hopkins Copy Share Image
