The Rest of the Story

by Sarah Dessen

Like when I was with him, I wasn’t a stranger after all.

How could someone know you better than you knew yourself? Especially if they really didn’t know you, not at all.

If life is a journey, wouldn’t you rather be the person behind the wheel than the one just being carried along?”

all my life I’d felt more like an observer than an active participant. Beside the wheel, not behind. It was safer there, but could be lonely too, or so I was now realizing. Maybe there was a middle ground between living too hard and living at all. Maybe, here, I was finding it.