Ends are for yesterday, not tomorrows.
You have peace," the old woman said, "when you make it with yourself.
Before you measure the years, you measure the days.
I think what you notice most when you haven’t been home in a while is how much the trees have grown around your memories.
Lost love is still love.
Love like rain, can nourish from above, drenching couples with soaking joy. But sometimes, under the angry heat of life, love dries on the surface and must nourish from below, tending to its roots, keeping itself alive.