Sometimes all you have is a dream. You stick to it; you hold on to it, and you caress it. Like a baby. Like a child that grows up into something beautiful and wonderful if you do the things right. Provided you do them right. Provided you know what is right. Provided you know what you are doing.

If I had a wish I would wish for worries to vanish. I would wish for everyone to be happy. For tears to disappear, for pain to lessen, for grief to fade away.

I have questions. Millions of questions. I have quite a number of how’s, several what’s, a few when’s, hundreds of what if’s, and one why. Obviously I don’t have any answers. Sometimes I wish I had them, sometimes I am happy I don’t.

I want to be somewhere I am not,
I want to run some place I don’t know,
I want to sleep in peace and have no dreams,
I want to vent my grief in a torrent of tears.

They met in a formal dinner. She was nervous. He was sweet. They both led very busy lives with very demanding careers. He managed to make quite an impression, until he took her to the middle of the floor, and asked her to dance the chicken dance with him.

Someone once said, love does not walk away, people do. I will add, and they take love with them. It is like taking it out of an old box, folding it carefully, packing into a bag and taking it away from you.

“Alright hun.” Claire asks as we start unloading the car. I could only shrug. My best friend Claire and her boyfriend were helping me sell my stuff at the local car boot sale.

She woke up and instantly checked the clock. 3 am. Not that bad, she thought. Yesterday it was 2 am, the day before she had not have any sleep at all. She hardly could sleep since he had gone.

Imagine a perfect relationship. A relationship full of love, passion, respect, tolerance, understanding. Imagine that you wake up to sweet good mornings and go to bed after a good night kiss. Every single day. 365 days a year. No exceptions. No failures.

Passing by the library Annie noticed that the secretaire was open. She hesitated but then entered the room; her husband, Michael, didn’t like her being in there. He used to say it was his workshop, a place where he was the creator and anything that could distract him was not welcome there. Including her.

They say time heals all. Does it heal the bruises of hasty decisions? The ones that haunt you through day and night reminding you of things done and words said. Does it heal the loss of unforgettable love?

“Honey, why are you calling me so late?” he sounded worried as she had never before called at such odd hour.
What could she tell him, if she didn’t know herself why she was calling. It just hit her that she needed to hear his voice.

“One bottle, two bottle, three bottle,” Andy counted examining unfamiliar labels.
“Bottles.” Miley corrected.
“What?”
“Three bottles. Plural,” she explained without looking at him. She just had taken up plurals at school.