Sometimes you don't know it. What you have been waiting your whole life for. You don't know until it is happening.

Why could we say more to each other when it counted less?

It's harder to appreciate what you don't have to look hard to find.

I couldn't help but wonder if that was what love was -- believing that someone was going to come through, in the end, and that it would still count

That's the brutality of a breakup, isn't it? The people leaving think they did everything possible, the people left behind think what is possible hasn't even been tested yet.

Why does it take fear to move you? Why does it take chaos to make us understand exactly what we need to do?

There are words and there are feelings and somewhere between where the two meet is the truth