I mean, it's not surprising, really. Once you love something, you always love it in some way. You have to. It's, like, part of you for good.

It was like those songs I'd heard as a child, each so familiar, and all mine. When i got older and realized the words were sad, the stories tragic, it didn't make me love them any less. By then they were already part of me, woven into my conciousness & memory

Only a real asshole takes liberties with someone else's car stereo. That's serious.

During this time we've been apart, it's you I've thought of when I'm at my weakest, and you who have pulled me through.

And I felt a sudden whirl in my head, knowing this leap was inevitable, that I wasn't just standing on the cliff, toes poking over, but already in mid-air.

The first thing I did when I got inside was turn on the kitchen light. Then I moved to the table, putting my dad's iPod on the speaker dock, and a Bob Dylan song came on, the notes familiar. I went into the living room, hitting the switch there, then down the hallway to my room, where I did the same. It was amazing what a little noise and brightness could do to a house and a life, how much the smallest bit of each could change everything. After all these years of just passing through, I was beginning to finally feel at home.

Love is needing someone. Love is putting up with someone's bad qualities because they somehow complete you.