Too many heroes in my life. All gone.
What was the point of living through history if you didn't record it?
This is what happened when one left one's home - pieces of oneself scattered all over the world, no one place ever completely satisfied, always a nostalgia for the place left behind.
The hardest thing was to give meaning to what appeared to have none.
Sometimes you have to fulfill a promise in order to deserve the love you're given.
Why did someone fall in love with you because you are one thing and then want you to be something else?