The world before us is a postcard, and I imagine the story we are writing on it.

Maybe there was no one way to define it. Maybe there were as many shades of love as the blues of the sky.

Observing and understanding are two different things.

Maybe staying on the surface keeps her from returning to a place where she can't breathe.

We all have a dark place in us. It's what we do with it and the choice we make.

A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our prospects brighten . . .

Tell me who I am. (29)