Things I can feel. Hard. Soft. Rough. Smooth. But the inside kind of feel, it is all the same, like foggy mush. Is that the part of me that is still asleep? (9)

There are all kinds of friends you make in life... But there's something different about someone who spreads their wings with you.

Multiple closets for different needs. Overkill.

But I am more than a name. More than they tell me

I created an icicle sculpture in the snow. White on white.

Percentages! Those are for economists, polls, and politicians. Percentages can't define your identity.

Pieces. A bit for someone here. A bit there. And sometimes they don't add up to anything whole. But you are so busy dancing. Delivering. You don't have time to notice. Or are afraid to notice. And then one day you have to look. And it's true. All of your pieces fill up other people's holes. But they don't fill your own.