One Withers, Another Grows.

There Was Always A Quest For More Minutes, More Hours, Faster Progress To Accomplish More In Each Day. The Simple Joy Of Living Between Summers Was Gone.

There Is No Fair In Life And Death. If It Were, No Good Men Would Die Young.

When You Look Into Your Mother’s Eyes, You Know That Is The Purest Love You Can Find On This Earth.

But There's A Story Behind Everything. How A Picture Got On A Wall. How A Scar Got On Your Face. Sometimes The Stories Are Simple, And Sometimes They Are Hard And Heartbreaking. But Behind All Your Stories Is Always Your Mother's Story, Because Hers Is Where Yours Begin.

At That Moment I Felt Lonelier Than I'd Ever Felt Before, And That Loneliness Seemed To Squat In My Lungs And Crush All But My Most Minimal Breathing. There Was Nothing Left To Say. Not About This. Not About Anything.