I've always been hopelessly stuck in the present.
October was always the least dependable of months ... full of ghosts and shadows.
Florida was a living tomb, she used to tell anyone who'd listen, an old-age home in the shape of a state, God's little waiting room, as she was fond of quoting.
Perfect happiness is knowing that everyone I love is healthy, safe, and content.
No matter how grim things may seem, they always get better.
The point is that we have no control. The point is that there are no guarantees, that we never know what's going to happen in life, but we can't give up. The point is that, fallible as we all are, we have to keep trying, we have to keep reaching out to others.