We write to taste life twice, in the moment, and in the retrospect.
No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories.
The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It’s the loneliness of it.
Most of our lives are a series of images, they pass us by like towns on a highway. But sometimes a moment stuns us as it happens and we know that this instant is more than a fleeting image. We know that this moment, every part of it, will live on forever.
Sometimes you miss the memories, not the person.
Memories are dangerous things. You turn them over and over, until you know every touch and corner, but still you’ll find an edge to cut you.