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?

Red is the first color of spring. It's the real color of rebirth. Of beginning.

We can either try to change everything or just make the most of whatever time we have.

Reading the situation correctly is part of getting through it safely.

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

And I laugh at myself for thinking I could touch the sky.

Is falling in love with someone's story the same thing as falling in love with the person himself?