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But there was something I liked about the idea of those seeds buried so deep having at least a chance to emerge

Sarah Dessen

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Sarah Dessen
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 6
Novelist
Writer
Evanston
Illinois
Liked
Deep
Least
Chance
Idea
Ideas
Emerge
Something
Buried
Seeds

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I am coming to terms with the fact that loving someone requires a leap of faith, and that a soft landing is never guaranteed.
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Best Friends. And I thought of what she had done all the millions of times I cried to her, collapsing at even the slightest wounding of my heart or pride. So I reached over and pulled her to me, wrapping my arms around her, and held my best friend close, returning so many favors all at once.
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That was the thing. You never got used to it, the idea of someone being gone. Just when you think it's reconciled, accepted, someone points it out to you, and it just hits you all over again, that shocking.
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It's all about you, Colie. She touched one finger to her temple, tap tap tap. Believe in yourself up here and it will make you stronger than you could ever imagine. There is something infectious about confidence. And for that one moment, with my eyebrows burning and my eyes watering, I believed. And good hair never hurt either.
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I just have to be super strong when it comes to my work time. Shut the browser, ignore the email alerts, and just WRITE.
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I hated high school. I was not the greatest student, participated in no activities, and spent most of my time hanging out in my parking lot.
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I reached up with my finger and traced the scar over my eyebrow, remembering when that was the greatest hurt I'd ever known.
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Again, it occurred to me how weird it was to be permanent in a place that to everyone else was only temporary. Like I could never be sure if they were the ones who weren't real, or if I was.
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call it crazy, or just chicken salad. But within reason, or without it i was in it too.
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Maybe we were all destined to just keep doing the same stupid things, over and over again, never really learning a single thing.
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I'd been running for years: there was nothing scarier, to me, than to just be still with someone. And yet, there on that dark road, going home, I was.
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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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Failing sucks. But it's better than the alternative. Which is? Not even trying. Now he did look at me, straight on. Life's short, you know?
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That was the hard thing about grief, and the grieving. They spoke another language, and the words we knew always fell short of what we wanted them to say.
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I always say that teenagers are the first to know if you're pandering to them.
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Writing a novel is like childbirth: once you realize how awful it really is, you never want to do it again.
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In my group of friends, I was always the one who remembered everything. The stories, the boys my friends and I dated, all the details. So I think a part of me was always filing them away, although at the time I wasn't sure why.
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How it felt to have the world moving beneath me, a hand gripping mine, knowing if I fell, at least I wouldn't do it alone.
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How do you even begin to return to someone, much less convince them to do the same for you? I had no idea. More than ever, though, right then I had to believe the answer would just come to me.
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It hadn't even occured to me that somebody would believe mine.
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