There Are No Days More Full Than

Sometimes, In Life, Nothing Happens. But, Sometimes, Nothing Happens Beautifully.

I Know Already That I Will Return To This Day Whenever I Want To. I Can Bid It Alive. Preserve It. There Is A Still Point Where The Present, The Now, Winds Around Itself, And Nothing Is Tangled. The River Is Not Where It Begins Or Ends, But Right In The Middle Point, Anchored By What Has Happened And What Is To Arrive.

He Said To Me Once That Most Of The Time People Use The Word Love As Just Another Way To Show Off They're Hungry. The Way He Said It Went Something Like: Glorify Their Appetites.

You Can Count The Dead, But You Can't Count The Cost. We've Got No Math For Heaven.

The Tunnels Of Our Lives Connect, Coming To Daylight At The Oddest Moments, And Then Plunge Us Into The Dark Again. We Return To The Lives Of Those Who Have Gone Before Us, A Perplexing Möbius Strip Until We Come Home, Eventually, To Ourselves.