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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
Harder
Hold
Hard
Sometimes
Even
Kind

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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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It takes so little to change everything. If you really thought about it, it would scare you to death.
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In the end, though, maybe it's not how you reach a place that matters. Just that you get there at all.
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It's the same thing,' I told her. 'What is?' 'Being afraid and being alive.' 'No,' she said slowly, and now it was as if she was speaking a language she knew at first I wouldn't understand, the very words, not to mention the concept, being foreign to me. 'Macy, no. It's not.
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Maybe, you just misplaced it, you know? It's been there. But you just haven't been looking in the right spot. Because lost means forever, it's gone. But misplaced... that means it's still around, somewhere. Just not where you thought.
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During the long stretches of quiet two-lane highway, with the sun setting in the distance, it was somehow easier to say things aloud, and regardless of what was said, we just kept moving toward that horizon.
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It's a big deal when you finally get the chance to do the one thing you want to do - need to do - more than anything. It can kind of scare the crap out of you.
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I just can't ever be a free spirit and just relax. When it comes to work, this is good. I'm very disciplined, which with writing is often half the battle, or more. But it also means that if I want to, say, play hooky and chocolate and watch Bravo all afternoon, I feel horribly guilty. I wish I could find a nice balance.
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It was just perfect, just right all at once.
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“In Truth,” I said, “there are no rules other than you have to tell the truth.” “How do you win?” he asked. “That,” I said, “is such a boy question.
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But I think, personally, that it would be worse to have been alone all that time. Sure, maybe I would have protected my heart from some things, but would that really have been better? To hold myself apart because I was too scared that something might no be forever?
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I took his wildness from him and tried to fold it into myself, filling up the empty spaces all those second place finishes left behind.
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But against love, the case was solid. Easily argued. And you could, indeed, hold it in your hand.
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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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