Yesterday I heard your voice again. It was faint, but i'm sure it was there. 

One day later, I thought I saw you, and your smile that seemed to guarantee the storm would end.

Under all of my facades, that's where you'd find me. And you reassured me that I was safe.

All of my memories of us together fade every day. But one thing never does: how you spoke.

Remember what you said to me once? "It's not about what we want. It's about what is."

Every time I question why the world seems to dark, I think about it. And it inspires me to change.

Anyone who knows me knows I never hold onto things. I kept those fake flowers you gave me.

Why? It's not that I haven't moved on. It's just that I don't see a reason to throw them away.

Even now, I consider how things could've been different. What I could've done different. 

So what's the point of anyhthing? I don't think it all needs a point. Some things just are.

Only recently have I really accepted that that's okay.

Maybe you didn't actually believe those words you said to me. But I did. And I still do.

Each person that comes into our lives serves a purpose. I'm glad you served yours.