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.
'You want to talk about failure?' He looked up at me, meeting my eyes. 'Try being the one who was driving. Who got to live.'
'Of course I do,' he said. 'Failing sucks. But it's better than the alternative.'
'Which is?'
'Not even trying.' Now he did look at me, straight on.
'Life's short, you know?'
'Which is?'
'Not even trying.' Now he did look at me, straight on.
'Life's short, you know?'
And the bottom line is, what defines you isn't how many times you crash, but the number of times you get back on the bike. As long as it's one more, you're all good.
