Not that we were incompatible: we just had nothing to talk about.

Wasn't it better if they kept this desire to see each other hidden within them, and never actually got together? That way, there would always be hope in their hearts. That hope would be a small, yet vital flame that warmed them to their core-- a tiny flame to cup one's hands around and protect from the wind, a flame that the violent winds of reality might easily extinguish.

The ones with no imagination are always the quickest to justify themselves.

Reaching the finish line, never walking, and enjoying the race. These three, in this order, are my goals.

Such wounds to the heart will probably never heal. But we cannot simply sit and stare at our wounds forever.

One listless day followed another, with nothing to distinguish one from the next. You could have changed the order and no one would have noticed.

Most human activities are predicated on the assumption that life goes on. If you take that premise away, what is there left?