Too much to take in, too much to purge. Why must every memory, once sweet, dead end in such ugliness?

Your life doesn't belong to you, it belongs to the people that love you

It's just so hard to feel good, you know?

Maybe Life is random. No fate. No God. Just Time.

I'm sad. Pressed down by sorrow. I'm angry. Pissed at God, if there is one, and the way things are. I'm scared. Confused by the whys. Why are we here? Is there, really, some intelligent design? Why do we cry for someone who leaves us if there's some Grand Pearly Gate in the sky? Why worry about how we build our lives if the ultimate ending for all is death, a single breath away? (358)

Now that I have opened that bottle of memories they're pouring out like wine, crimson and bittersweet.

Love Is a curious thing. Sometimes it barrels into you, leaves you breathless. Other times, it comes in- to your life, a tentative beam of morning sun sneaking through the blinds, and you think this light isn't possible. The shutters are drawn. Night should linger on. I don't feel like waking. Yet the room comes slowly lit. Sleep slithers away, and at last you can no longer deny the dawning.