When I write to you, I feel your breath; when you read them, I imagine you feel mine. Is it that way with you too? These letters are part of us now, part of our history, a reminder forever that we made it through this time. Thank you for helping me survive this year, but more than that, thank you in advance for all the years to come.

In times of grief and sorrow I will hold you and rock you, and take your grief and make it my own. When you cry, I cry, and when you hurt, I hurt. And together we will try to hold back the floods to tears and despair and make it through the potholed street of life.

Allie noticed it all, every sound, every thought. Her senses had come alive, invigorating her, and she felt her mind drifting through the last few weeks.

There is nothing like love. You should try it.” Thibault shrugged. “Maybe one day.

First you will smile, and then you will cry -- don't say you haven't been warned.

Wandering and confused, lost to myself, ill-assorted, contradictory, Pausing, gazing, bending, and stopping

Where do I go from here?