I gazed at my face in the mirror this morning, and I saw a cluster of stars—old and new that were imperfectly placed in the galaxy of my own reflection. Some of them placed near each other, and some of them dead, and some of them were about to create a supernova in the near future. But most of them have already passed away—leaving black holes to suck the happiness out of my own universe. But what I have learned since the big bang was that a universe without planets and stars is a universe without beauty. And loving the galaxy of my own imperfections would be the greatest joy of my life.
—Confessions of a Wallflower, page 237
It’s six o’ clock in the evening, and I’m thinking of her. How she heals me. How she makes me happy. How she makes me smile. How she makes me feel like life’s worth living.
There’s a setting sun landing on a leaf that reminds me of her. That reminds me of a love. A hope. A joy. A peace that I’ll be dying valiantly knowing that I have loved and made memories with this woman whom I greatly shared my sufferings with.
I couldn’t thank the universe enough for bringing this woman into my life. She was created to be kissed, loved, and given flowers every day. And that’s probably all I can do while I still have time.