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And at some point, the struggle becomes too much-too tiring-and you consider letting go. Allowing tragedy... or whatever... to happen.

Jay Asher

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Jay Asher
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: September 30
Novelist
Writer
Arcadia
California
Consider
Becomes
Struggle
Happen
Tiring
Whatever
Tire
Allowing
Point
Letting
Happens
Tragedy
Much

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I repeat his words in my head. What's going on? What's going on? Oh, well, since you asked, I got a bunch of tapes in the mail today from a girl who killed herself. Apparently, I had something to do with it. I'm not sure what that is, so I was wondering if I could borrow your Walkman to find out. 'Not much,' I say.
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My breathing begins to slow. The tension in my muscles starts to relax. Then, a click in the headphones. A slow breath of air. I open my eyes to bright moonlight. And Hannah, with warmth. Thank you.
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Maybe it didn’t seem like a big deal to you Zach. But now, I hope you understand. My world was collapsing. I needed those notes. I needed any hope those notes might have offered. And you? You took that hope away. You decided I didn’t deserve to have it.
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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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I want to collapse. I want to fall on the sidewalk right there and drag myself to the ivy.
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But sometimes there’s nothing left to do but move on.
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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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You don't know what goes on in anyone's life but your own.
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Because when you're posed, you know someone's watching. You put on your very best smile. You let your sweetest personality shine.
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You can hear rumors. But you can't know them.
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Josh will begin disappearing into a future where the only place he and I remain friends is on the Internet.
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Maybe it's not as important to you as it was for me, but that's not for you to decide.
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I swear, guys in groups are capable of the stupidest things. Like war, Kellan says, heaping napkins and ketchup packets onto her tray. And jumping off rooftops. And lighting their farts on fire, she says.
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And what if in the future we're at war again, or we still haven't elected a non-white or non-male president, or the Rolling Stones are still dragging their tired old butts on stage? That would depress me way too much.
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And after I dropped him off, I took the longest possible route home... I explored alleys and hidden roads I never knew existed. I discovered neighborhoods entirely new to me. And finally... I discovered I was sick of this town and everything in it.
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