...I also have an extended family. The people who stayed. The people who became more than friends; the people who open the door when I knock. That's what it all boils down to. The people who have to open the door, not because they always want to but ...
That's what I learned. I learned I couldn't shed light on love other than to feel its comings and goings and be grateful.
As he stared into the ocean, he must have tossed a lifetime of apologies into its silence. Maybe he thought the tide would wash his troubles away.
This living stuff is a lot. Too much, and not enough. Half empty, and half full.
Memories are simply moments that refuse to be ordinary
