She stroked my hair and told me I was beautiful, but I was old enough by then to know not to believe it anymore.

The end of a wedding reception is always so depressing. And only the bride and groom are spared, jetting off into the sunset while the rest of us wake up the next morning to just another day.

I was tired of hanging on, taking the torn pieces to make something whole with them.

I had to wonder whether it was possible that this wasn’t already decided for me, and if maybe, just maybe, this was my one last chance to try and prove it. There was no way to know. There never is. But I reached out and took it anyway.

As if it didnt matter what was on, but instead how hard i was listening.

The thing is I'm a great believer in the perfect moment. They don't come around that often.

but accepting help doesn‟t have to mean giving up control.