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I've forgotten what it was like to feel the sun on my skin without worrying that it could hurt me. I've stopped throwing myself from cliffs, with my arms in the air, waiting for the splash below.
Every day, I look in the mirror, and I see more and more of my mother's face staring back at me. Every day I measure the weight of my past against the present and feel the drag of what could have been.
I find a photograph of you and wonder when I'll stop hoping. I stare at the clock, with its slow methodical hands and dread the day when I'll know its too late. - Lang Leav