Soon enough you can say we made it up just for fun I guess to make a mess cause what’s more fun than other people’s hell

She was a mess. So what? We are all stinking messes, every last one of us, or we once were messes and found our way out, or we are trying to find our way out of a mess, scratching, reaching.

Have fun," she says and releases me. "Make trouble.

We're here to fuck shit up

Love. Such a lot of damn fuss.

We meant well, she thought, looking up at a sky piled with cumulus clouds turning amethyst and indigo above the clearing. No one was deliberately evil. We all did the best we could. Even so, what a mess we made of everything …

I believe in beautiful messes…I like to splatter a lot.

All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other.

She was still in love and didn’t know what to do with all this love of hers. There was so much of it, and it was so messy: leaking, spilling, tumbling out of her, like stuffing falling out of an old rag doll that was coming apart at the seams.

We did it, we bashed them wee Potter's the one, and Voldy's gone moldy, so now let's have fun!

It's a mess. But you know what? It's a beautiful mess that we can't and shouldn't try to avoid.

We all go a little mad sometimes.

It is incredible what kind of mess I can make
with a nine-hour drive and an unanswered text.

All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other...