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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
Idea
Ideas
Emerge
Something
Buried
Seeds
Liked
Deep
Least
Chance
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If this was my forever, I wouldn't want to spend it here.
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I didnt pay atteniton to times or distance, instead focusing on how it felt just to be in motion, knowing it wasn't about the finish line but how I got there that mattered.
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As if he was beating me to the punch, his words living forever, while I was left speechless, no rebuttal, no words left to say.
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Clearly, sharing something could take you a long way, or at least to a different place than you'd planned. Like a friendship or a family, or even jsut alone on a curb on a Saturday, trying to get your bearings as best you can.
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See, Colie, it's all about understanding. We're all worth something.
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You asked me to go out with you. I know you probably changed your mind. But you should know, the answer was yes. It's always been yes when it comes to you.
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And trying to break it down this way, to minor and major offenses, maybes and what-ifs, was like arguing over the origin of cracks in a broken egg. It was done. How it happened didn't matter anymore.
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I wondered if it was really because he cared about me, or if now I was just another challenge.
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Pretend to be a delinquent? I asked clarifying. You can do it, Dave advised me. Just don't smile, and try to look like you're considering stealing something.
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Like a word on a page that you’ve printed and read a million times, that suddenly looks strange or wrong, foreign. And you feel scared for a second, like you’ve lost something, even if you’re not sure what it is.
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I am the middle sister. The one in between. Not oldest, not youngest, not boldest, not nicest. I am the shade of gray, the glass half empty or full, depending on your view. In my life, there has been little that I have done first or better than the one preceding or following me. Of all of us, though, I am the only one who has been broken.
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I think whenever a writer is really enjoying themselves and liking what they are doing, that shows on the page.
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Because this is what happens when you try to run from the past. It just doesn’t catch up, it overtakes … blotting out the future.
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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.
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When I was a teen, I was never really into the captain of the football team or the student body president. The guys I liked were quirky and different: They listened to music I'd never heard of, never had lunch or gas money, and could always make you laugh.
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Sitting there with them, it was almost hard to remember when I first came to Perkins, so determined to remember to be a one-woman operation to the end. But that was the thing about taking help and giving it, or so I was learning there was no such thing as really getting even. Instead, this connection, once opened, remained ongoing over time.
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Because maybe, the best of times were yet to come. You never knew.
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