#teen

Oh diary, I love her, I love her, I love her so much. Jordana is the most amazing person I have ever met. I could eat her. I could drink her blood. She's the only person I would allow to be shrunk to microscopic size and explore me in a tiny submersible machine. She is wonderful and beautiful and sensitive and funny and sexy. She's too good for me, she's too good for anyone! All I could do was let her know. I said: "I love you more than words. And I am a big fan of words. ↗

— Joe Dunthorne

#love #romance #sexy #submarine #teen

Who thinks to interview their own mother? As a self-fixated teen, I never imagined that she had an actual personal history. To my young eyes, she was Source of Cash Obsessed With De-Cluttering ↗

— Jancee Dunn

#mother #teen #imagination

You sure are quick to strip, boy,” Dad said, clearly disapproving. “Lemme get this straight. ↗

— Shannon Delany

#wolf #love

Is it possible not to ever know your type - not to even know you have a type - until quite suddenly you do? ↗

— Jennifer E. Smith

#love

This whole time, I wasn't waiting for something in particular. Just someone who wanted me. Not sex. But me. ↗

— Diana Peterfreund

#rape #sad #sex #teenagers #love

To Love another unconditionally, is to make the ultimate sacrifice... ↗

— Whitney T. Hines

#love #romance #teen-fiction #vampire #love

Then there was your voice Like a windup tin toy Like the sweetest nails on a chalkboard That I ever heard ↗

— Michelle Dalton

#teens #love

umm... abit gross it kinda about boyfriend and girlfriend kinda going throw then they break up then they love each other then they make up again and the girl father said u have to come home until 9pm but the girls want more time to be with her boyfriend :) ↗

— Jacqueline Wilson

#happy #teenage-stuff #love

Yes, but I don't think of the Teen Angel as of an age. ↗

— Frankie Avalon

#angel #i #teen #think #yes

At eighteen, she already looks like a woman of sorrows and as her breaths start becoming shorter, tired of looking over her shoulder, she only wants to get away from this city where no one can fathom her love- boundless and profane and real, like her skin and her lips and the insides of her thighs. She knows she can smile, smell like the others. Her skin would bleed too if pricked and yet this reality does not belong to the ones sleeping on the platform floor; this reality is hers and her alone. Thus when she puts the mirror back, she rummages in her handbag, searching for that thing called identity: some of it lost somewhere in the railway colony she had just left behind, some in Sudhanshu’s left jacket pocket, the rest of it scattered here around broken teacups on railings, totally aberrant and arbitrary. ↗

— Kunal Sen

#suicidal #teenager #love