I always thought death was cruel, a silent destroyer of breath, of hope, of life. Now I understand it is physical death, the perception of it, the fear of it, which often saves us; for death marks the end of our flesh causing us to question the future of what we are.

A secret love is beautiful, sweet and sacred when it's just a light infatuation; but when that person reaches over and touches you in the heart, making it alive in a way it has never known, that secret love becomes frightening, because you can never make them love you, you would never want to make them love you...but all the same, no matter which way you view it, they don't love you...and your heart doesn't know how to beat the same.

What is truth? Truth is what causes you to breathe again when lies have told you, you are already dead.

It amazes me, how many words there are spoken, how many thoughts...yet each speaks freshly to me each time as if they were never once spoken before.

When I was young I would ask everybody what life was about. Now it's clear to me that the image of each existence shows its own answer to that question.

I've been looking for answers all of my life. Yes I realize now these are not what I needed. No, in fact, all I need is what I've decided on, in my heart to believe. In all the crossing confusion and haste of numerous opinion and stance, my own opinion has become my own boat from where I observe the raging opinions of the sea, relaxed, drinking my lemonade and feeling very amused by it all.

Yes, I do feel the world revolves around me. After all, I am the main character of my own life.