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There comes a point when things are undeniable and can't be hidden any longer. Even from yourself.
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And the rest is history,' I said. Nah.' He shook his head. 'The rest is now.
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Let's just start and see what happens.
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I think the most important thing is just to write. It sounds so simple, but sometimes it's not. You can get so distracted - -by having to work other jobs, or what other people have to say about your writing - -but the one thing that really matters is that you just keep going, especially when you're working on a novel. It's so easy to get discouraged and give up.
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The basic fact is that no, this isn't ideal. Very few things are. Sometimes, you have to manufacture your own history. Give fate a push,so to speak.
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"I don't know," I said. "What else did you do for your first eighteen years?" "Like I said," he said as I unlocked the car, "I'm not so sure that you should go by my example." "Why not?" "Because I have my regrets," he said. "Also, I'm a guy. And guys do different stuff." "Like ride bikes?" I said. "No," he replied. "Like have food fights. And break stuff. And set off firecrackers on people's front porches. And..." "Girls can't set off firecrackers on people's front porches?" "They can," he said... "But they're smart enough not to. That's the difference."
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We laughed ourselves silly, taking back our shared past, gently, piece by piece.
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Its 75 Degrees! In December!
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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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If nothing else, now we knew where to find each other, even if only time would tell if either of us would ever come looking.
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Just because someone's pretty, doesn't mean she's decent.
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I've seen what commitment leads to. Going in is the easy part. It's the ending that sucks! -Remy
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The mistakes you make now count. Not for everything, and not forever. But they do matter, and they shape you.If you take nothing else from what I've been through, at least remember this: make your choices well. Because you'll always be accountable for them. That's what being an adult is all about.
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And guys don't get attached, guys don't give themselves over completely, and guys lie. That's why they should be handled with great trepidation, not trusted, and held at arm's length whenever possible.
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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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It's funny how two people can grow up in the same town, go to the same school, have the same friends, and end up so totally different. Family, or lack of it, counts for more than you'd think.
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I took in a breath. "What's the one thing you'd do," I asked. "if you could do anything?" Pass," he said. For a second I was sure I'd heard wrong. "What?" He cleared his throat. "I said, I pass." Why?" He turned his head and looked at me. "Because." Because why?" Because I just do.
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I wondered if emotions were like menstrual cycles, if you get enough women together. Give it time, and everyone was crying.
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If you could just be nice, then you wouldn't have to worry about arguments at all. but being nice wasn't as easy as it seemed, especially when the rest of the world could be so mean.
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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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There was no short answer to this; like so much else, it was a long story. But what really makes any story real is knowing someone will hear it. And understand.
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Just because we don’t see eye to eye on everything doesn’t mean we can’t be close.
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We didn't talk about our scars, the ones you could see and the ones you couldn't.
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You just walk over there and into the office and say, 'Hey, be my prom date,'" he said. "It's that simple.