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I've always known who I am. I might not work perfectly, or be like them, but that's okay. I know I work in my own way.

Sarah Dessen

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Sarah Dessen
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 6
Novelist
Writer
Evanston
Illinois
Work
Way
Always
Like
Perfectly
Okay
Known
Might

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The true story...is the realization that no time in your life is ever perfect, that even the best memories have cracks you might not see.
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Like a blinking cursor on an empty page, it was just the first thing. The beginning of the beginning. But at least it was done.
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It was like discovering that some part of you wasn't yours at all. And it made me wonder what else I couldn't claim.
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I sat up, sliding them off, and the quiet around me did not, for once, seem empty and vast. Instead, for the first time in a while, it felt like it already was full.
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I was actually kind of a hot mess in high school. I did a lot of things in high school I'm not proud of. I wasn't a good student and I wasn't particularly a good daughter. I wasn't very engaged.
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Together, we looked down at the tiny house, the sole thing on this vast, flat surface. Like the only person living on the moon. It could be either lonely or peaceful, depending on how you looked at it. It's a start, I said.
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The point,' Ms. Conyers continued, is that no word had one specific definition. Maybe in the dictionary, but not in real life.
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If you didn't love him, this never would have happened. But you did. And accepting that love and everything that followed it is part of letting it go.
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The language of solace, and comets, and the girls we all become, in the end.
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But something, somehow, had made all these paths converge. You couldn't find it on a checklist, or work it into the equation. It just happened.
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I always say that teenagers are the first to know if you're pandering to them.
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It's not always so simple, Haven. Sometimes there isn't a good guy and a bad guy. Sometimes even the ones you want to believe turn out to be liars.
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There was nothing, nothing to depend on. And why was I surprised?
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It was always late at night, when everything and everyone else was quiet, that those voices would rise like ghosts, soft and haunting, filling your mind until sleep finally came.
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I told you, everyone understands a quest.
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It was hard to remember what the yard had looked like even twelve hours before, undisturbed and pristine. Like it takes so little to change something, but to make you forget the way it once was, as well.
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But the original was there as well—more jaded and rudimentary, functional rather than romantic. It fit not just the yellow house but another door, deep within my own heart. One that had been locked so tight for so long that I was afraid to even try it for fear of what might be on the other side
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What did it feel like, I wondered, to love someone that much? So much that you couldn't even control yourself when they came close, as if you might just break free of whatever was holding you and throw yourself at them with enough force to easily overwhelm you both.
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Can she be divorced? I asked. And famous for her commercials and ideas? She can be anything, Boo told me, and this is what I remember most, her freckled face so solemn, as if she knew she was the first to tell me. And so can you.
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Too many locks, not enough keys.
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