Oh, that fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity.

What if we knew what tomorrow would bring? Would we fix it? Could we?

you will always be my favorite hello and hardest goodbye. P.S. i will always love you

There is absolutely nothing wrong with returning to the house you grew up in every now and again. It's good for the soul.

Her eyes, mostly cast downward, occasionally flicker upwards to meet his before falling again. She is apologetic for everything, as always, constantly saying sorry to the world, as though as her very presence offends.

There were hundreds of them spread across the floor, each telling its own tale of triumph or sadness, each letter representing a phase in her life. She had kept them all.

This house isn't mine anymore, but the memories are; the memories can't be sold. The building that housed my once-upon-a-time dreams stands for someone else now, as it did for the people before us, and I feel happy to let it go. Happy that I can begin again, anew, though bearing the scars of before. They represent wounds that have healed.