Love Is The Most Common Miracle.

Because There Is No Glory In Illness. There Is No Meaning To It. There Is No Honor In Dying Of.

The Truth Is That In Our Lives We Are All Going To Encounter Questions That Should Be Answered, That Deserve To Be Answered, And Yet Prove Unanswerable.

What A Treacherous Thing To Believe That A Person Is More Than A Person.

It Is Saying These Things That Keeps Us From Falling Apart. And Maybe By Imagining These Futures We Can Make Them Real, And Maybe Not, But Either Way We Must Imagine Them. The Light Rushes Out And Floods In.

It Is The Nature Of Stars To Cross