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Because our lies matched. It was a sign.

Jay Asher

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Jay Asher
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: September 30
Novelist
Writer
Arcadia
California
Matched
Sign
Lies
Lying

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I left. When I should have stayed.
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The longer you wait, and this is true, the slower the hands will move.
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You can't go back to how things were. How you thought they were. All you really have is...now.
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I sat. And I thought. And the more I thought, connecting the events in my life, the more my heart collapsed.
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When you write a book for publication, you're writing it for other people to read.
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That’s when I said it. That’s when I whispered to her, “I’m so sorry.” Because inside, I felt so happy and sad at the same time. Sad that it took me so long to get there. But happy that we got there together.
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But sometimes there’s nothing left to do but move on.
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I could picture life—school and everything else—continuing on without me. But I could not picture my funeral. Not at all. Mostly because I couldn’t imagine who would attend or what they would say.
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Could be my soul mate / two kindred spirits / Maybe we're not / I guess we'll never / know
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That's what I love about poetry. The more abstract, the better. The stuff where you're not sure what the poet's talking about. You may have an idea, but you can't be sure. Not a hundred percent. Each word, specifically chosen, could have a million different meanings.
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If my love were an ocean, there would be no more land. If my love were a desert, you would see only sand. If my love were a star- late at night, only light. And if my love could grow wings, I'd be soaring in flight.
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If I had a chance with him, I missed it. No, I didn't miss it. I threw it away.
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I’m sorry.” Once again, those were the words. And now, anytime someone says I’m sorry, I’m going to think of her.
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A flood of emotions rushes into me. Pain and anger. Sadness and pity. But most surprising of all, hope.
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You don’t know what goes on in anyone’s life but your own. And when you mess with one part of a person’s life, you’re not messing with just that part. Unfortunately, you can’t be that precise and selective. When you mess with one part of a person’s life, you’re messing with their entire life. Everything. . . affects everything.
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When you try rescuing someone and discover they can't be reached, why would you ever throw that back in their face?
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And here he is again, yet things feel like they'll never be as easy between us as they once were.
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You don't know what goes on in anyone's life but your own.
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Because I've heard so many stories that I don't know which one is the most popular. But I do know which is the least popular. The truth.
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