She knew nothing of the massacre that went on around her, but when she released the wail of a broken hearted mother, one man heard her. The one who took her son's life.

Never make pain your bedfellow, he'll always end up stealing your dreams.

Everyone gets broken. Everyone. Some grow stronger in those breaks. Others never recover.

It's strange how can lose things that are still right there. How a barrier can go up at any moment, trapping you on the other side, keeping you from what you want. How the things that hurt the most are things we once had.

It's sad to say you were the best thing to ever happen to me, when I was the worst thing to ever happen to you.

My mother speaks of my step being a source of life-long pain to her, that it is a living death, etc. By the same post I had several letters from anxious relatives, telling me that it was my duty to come home and thus ease my mother's anxiety.