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It seemed like this day could go in so many directions, like a spiderweb shooting out toward endless possibilities.
Sarah Dessen
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Sarah Dessen
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 6
Novelist
Writer
Evanston
Illinois
Toward
Possibility
Many
Like
Directions
Possibilities
Shooting
Endless
Seemed
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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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Even if you couldn't see it beneath the surface, molecules were bonding, energy pushing up slowly, as something worked do hare, all alone to grow.
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I wanted to tell him so. Find the right words, string them together in the ideal way, knowing that here they would have the best chance of sounding perfect.
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Just me and the future, finally together. Now there was a happy ending I could believe in.
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I spent a lot of time looking at that picture. Wondering what I’d think of that girl, if I was someone else, seeing how easily she sits in her boyfriend’s lap, laughing, with his arms around her. I would have thought her life was perfect, the way I once thought Cass’s was. It was too easy, I was learning, to just assume things.
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Which is completely out-of-line behavior. Then you are wholly within your rights to stomp on their foot. No, Delia said, over her shoulder. Actually, you're not. Just excuse yourself as politely as possible, and get out of arm's reach. Kristy looked at me, shaking her head. Stomp them. she said, under her breath. Really.
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closed my eyes and listened. It was like music I'd heard all my life, even more than This Lullaby. All those keystrokes, all those letters, so many words. I brushed my fingers over the beads and watched as her image rippled, like it was on water, breaking apart gently and shimmering before becoming whole again.
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It’s never something huge that changes the everything, but instead the tiniest of details, irrevocably tweaking the balance of the universe while you’re busy focusing on the big picture.
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Needing was so easy: it came naturally, like breathing. Being needed by someone else, though, that was the hard part. But as with giving help and accepting it, we had to do both to be made complete-like links overlapping to form a chain, or a lock finding the right key.
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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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I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell anyone. As long as I didn't say it aloud, it wasn't real.
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