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

He wasn't what I'd thought he was; maybe he never had been. I wasn't what I'd thought I was, either.

Then I'd crawl back into bed, smelling her all around me, and tell myself that next time, I would lock that window. But I never did.

Sometimes, you get things right the first time. Others, the second. But the third time, they say, is the charm.

I hated high school. I was not the greatest student, participated in no activities, and spent most of my time hanging out in my parking lot.

Pieces and parts were always easier to process. The full picture, the entire story, was another thing entirely. But you just never knew. Sometimes, people could surprise you.

Grieving doesn't make you imperfect. It makes you human.