Why does everyone think a girl who prefers books to people must be in want of a life?
Someone once told me love isn’t perfect—or predictable.
Point is, maybe some people wouldn't want to be around me all day, but there are people out there who would. And they're smart and funny. And they like some of the same things I like and hate some of the things I hate, but they also introduce me to all kinds of new things. That's as close to 'meant to be' as I can imagine.
There's a difference between preferring books to parties and preferring sixteen cats to seeing the light of day.
