See, as much as you want to hold on to the bitter sore memory that someone has left this world, you are still in it

You know, the mind is a remarkable thing. Just because you can't see the wound doesn't mean it isn't hurting. It scars all the time, but it heals.

If we don't change the direction we are headed, we will end up where we are going.

Love was that way. You could not render it in black or white. It always came down to the strange, blended shades of grey.

Like a missing tooth, sometimes an absence is more noticeable than a presence.

And I remembered something else that makes us human: faith, the only weapon in our arsenal to battle doubt.

The desperate usually succeed because they have nothing to lose.

Into the silence rips a sound that makes me let go of Max's hand and cover my ears. It is like the strafe of a bullet, nails on a chalkboard, promises being broken. It's a note I have never heard - this chord of pure pain - and it takes a moment to realize it is coming from me.

Now, I was starting to see that what looks like garbage from one angle might be art from another. Maybe it did take a crisis to get to know yourself; maybe you needed to get whacked hard by life before you understood what you wanted out of it.