Love is not a forest fire that burns intensely,hotly and out of control for a brief moment until,its expendable fuel spent,it sputters,seeking in vain for something else to consume,to sustain itself before, finally,it dies:cold, black ash the only evidence of its passing.Love is, instead, a campfire:it provides ample heat and comfortto the twosome who sit before it,and although its flames may at times wane,a well-tended campfire’s embers can be nurtured and fanneduntil the flames once again dance brightly and cheerfully,providing comfort to the couple who cherish the gentle warmth it ministers.
I know you would be watching over me all through this journey called life... whenever I look next to me, I feel like you arehere... and a part of you is within me in the form of this child... Love is like the wind... you may not see it... especially in the absence of the other... but you always feel it around...
Are you okay, Maggie?” Logan asked, rousing me out of my mind-numbing speculations. Heaving a big sigh, I turned to him and said, “I guess so.” “Are you still worried about visiting your mother?” he asked softly. Nodding, I said, “A little. I’m just so confused about this whole time-space-brain twister thing. And I’m afraid I might say the wrong thing and mess everything up.” I shook my head, trying to make sense of my thoughts. “I mean - what if my younger self should call my mother while I’m there visiting her? Is there really another version of me? Or by coming here from the future, did the younger me cease to exist?