It can take years to mold a dream. It takes only a fraction of a second for it to be shattered.

There is something about her eyes. Eyes don't breathe. I know that much. But hers look breathless.

Whatever you choose for your stationery is your favorite color because it's where you pour your heart out.

It can take years to mold a dream. It takes only a fraction of a second for it to be shattered.

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

My memory is coming back. It is curious how it comes. Each day, a rush of pieces, loosely connected, unimportant bits, snake through me. They click, click, click into my brain, like links being snapped together. And then they are done. A small chain of memories that fill in one tiny part of my life. They come out of nowhere, and most are not important.

Where we are going, I don't know. It doesn't seem to be the place that is important but the steps in between.