Sometimes we don't need words. Rather, it's words that need us.

So that's how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that's stolen from us--that's snatched right out of our hands--even if we are left completely changed, with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence. We draw ever nearer to the end of our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness.

With each passing moment I'm becoming part of the past. There is no future for me, just the past steadily accumulating.

He was silent for thirty seconds, maybe a minute. I uncrossed my legs under the table and wondered if this was the right moment to leave. It was as if my whole life revolved around trying to judge the right point in a conversation to say goodbye.

Spend your money on the things money can buy. Spend your time on the things money can’t buy.

I couldn't tell wether the hole that opened up inside me was from missing you or from the change of season

In the world we live in, what we know and what we don't know are like Siamese twins, inseparable, existing in a state of confusion.