Sublime is something you choke on after a shot of tequila.

Love of love written by the broken hearted, love of life written by the dead.

...she still cannot resist looking out the window every couple of minutes. The sound of a passing truck causes her to glance away. Even if there is no sound, the weight of a hundred seconds always turns her head.

For some reason, you will no longer be the person you believed you once were. You'll detect slow and subtle shifts going on all around you, more importantly shifts in you. Worse, you'll realize it's always been shifting, like a shimmer of sorts, a vast shimmer, only dark like a room. But you won't understand why or how.

I could see her get all nervous but she was also excited. Nightmares have that quality, don't they?

Scars are the paler pain of survival received unwillingly and displayed in the language of injury.

Absolutely nothing visible to the eye provides a reason for or even evidence of those terrifying shifts which can in a matter of moments reconstitute a simple path into an extremely complicated one.