I think of how perhaps the best way to fly would be with hands full of earth, so you always remember where you came from.

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

And it is strange that absence can feel like presence.

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

It is strange how we hold on to the pieces of the past while we wait for our futures.

We could have been happy. I know that, and it is perhaps the hardest thing to know.

There is something extraordinary about the first time falling.