I wonder if I will ever have the strength to hold onto something. Or if I will always be someone who destroys.

Does loving someone mean you want them to be safe? Or that you want them to be able to choose?

I have tried to be righteous all my life. Yet I have never been content.

Love changes what is probable and makes unlikely things possible

Isn't it funny how the memories you cherish before a breakup can become your worst enemies afterwards? The thoughts you loved to think about, the memories you wanted to hold up to the light and view from every angle-it suddenly seems a lot safer to lock them in a box, far from the light of day and throw away the key. It's not an act of bitterness. It's an act if self-preservation. It's not always a bad idea to stay behind the window and look out at life instead, is it?

There is something extraordinary about the first time falling.

There is ebb and flow. Leaving and coming. Flight and fall. Sing and silent. Reaching and reached.