Could it be that to truly love a thing is not to desire it, but to desire happiness for it?
Everyone has some inner power that awaits discovery.
Regret is the most tiresome of companions.
Sometimes our arms are so full with the burdens we carry that it hinders our view of the load those around us are staggering beneath.
Dwelling on him would make him a bigger part of my life than I want him to be.
There are people I've yet to meet who are waiting for my path to intersect with theirs, so they can complete their own journeys. I don't know who or where they are, but I know for certain that they are waiting.