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It is kind of hard to hold a lot in. But for me… it’s sometimes even harder to let it out.

Sarah Dessen

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Sarah Dessen
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 6
Novelist
Writer
Evanston
Illinois
Kind
Harder
Hold
Hard
Sometimes
Even

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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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But all I could think of was how when nothing made sense and hadn't for ages, you just have to grab onto anything you feel sure of.
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You bought me some forks. And knives. And spoons. Because you love me!
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From up above, in a plane passing over, you’d just see one little light in all this dark, with no idea of the lives that were being lived within it, and in the house beside, and beside that one. So much happening in the world, night and day, hour by hour. It was no wonder we were meant to sleep, if only to check out of it for a little while.
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It's not forever', she'd said, but to my mother, it might as well have been. She had make her choice, and this was it, where she felt safe, in a world she could, for the most part, control.
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When you've never gotten love from someone, you don't know what it might look like if it ever does appear. You look for it in everything: any bright light overhead could be a star.
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Home wasn't a set house, or a single town on a map. It was wherever the people who loved you were, whenever you were together.
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The truth was, I wasn't sure. But I wanted to keep believing people could change, and it was certainly easier to do so when you were in the midst of it.
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Please. She sighed. 'Can't a girl have high standards? I don't want an ordinary boy.
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You can't love anyone that way more than once in a lifetime. It's too hard and it hurts too much when it ends.
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As if it didnt matter what was on, but instead how hard i was listening.
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Still, there was also was something reassuring about working for Commercial, almost hopeful. Like things that were lost could be found again. As we drove away, I always tried to imagine what it would be like to open your door to find something you had given up on.
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An ending was an ending. No matter how many pages of sentences and paragraphs of great stories led up to it, it would always have the last word.
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It was like reaching for someone's hand, then missing their fingers, or even their arm, and hitting their shoulder instead. But no matter. You hang on tight anyway.
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For two hours I'd felt myself stretching tighter and tighter, like a rubber band pulled to the point of snapping. And now, I could feel the smaller, weaker part of myself beginning to fray, tiny bits giving way before the big break.
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Once I turned eighteen, I could cut myself off from everyone and finally get what I wanted, which was to be on my own, once and for all. ~Ruby, pg 38
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You didn't fail. You just opted out. There's a difference.
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In those first few hours officially single again the world seems like it expands, suddenly bigger and more vast now that you have to get through it alone.
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But as i lay there, it only seemes like silence filling my ears. And the thing was, it was so freaking loud.
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If you were dead, Owen told her, you'd have bigger problems than what you were wearing.
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