Trying to write about love is ultimately like trying to have a dictionary represent life. No matter how many words there are, there will never be enough.

I am a firm believer in serendipity- all the random pieces coming together in one wonderful moment, when suddenly you see what their purpose was all along.

Why is it so much easier to talk to a stranger? why do we feel we need to disconnect in order to connect? If I wrote "Dear Sofia" or "Dear Boomer" or "Dear Lily's Great-Aunt" at the top of this postcard, wouldn't that change the words that followed? Of course it would. But the question is: When I wrote "Dear Lily," was that just a version of "Dear Myself"? I know it was more than that. But it was also less than that, too

It was one of those moments when you feel the future so much that it humbles the present.

What I learned The well-documented difference Between alone and lonely The comfort of knowing

How do you commemorate a year? A paper anniversary, but we are the words written down, not the paper.

Once the storm comes out, the landscape changes. What you had before is altered in some way. And you have a choice: build something new and better from what is left or abandon it.