Paper cuts on my fingertips are nothing compared to the cuts on my heart that were left the day you walked out of my life. How to mend my small aching wounds that opened the doors to grief?

Loving her was a labyrinth of entanglement. Just when you felt you were breaking through, she would dissipate, leaving you grieving for something that never was. She felt destroyed, so she destroyed; it was a wrenching existence where everyone endured.

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee--
Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quothe the Raven, "Nevermore.

He was like rain, a subtle nudge to the soul. He arrived quietly, often without warning. At times he'd trickle slowly through her mind, a gentle passing, but before she could run for cover she'd find herself drowning in his memory, flooded with heartache all over again.

I wish I could have her, Texas within Illinois so she could be happy.

Cherish your present. Your memories. You don't know how long you might have the people in your life. Look forward to the future, with all the strength it takes go onward, use your muscles.