we should recognize the fire in the sunrise and heed its warning
things we remember in the haze of nostalgia rarely deserve it
when the light is right unique patterns will emerge but they’re not random
there’s always something like baby shoes on a wire to be discovered
what we remember is oftentimes not what was but what we wanted
it doesn’t take much effort to turn something bland into something nice
what we are given doesn’t matter unless we also give it back
we cannot predict how someone crossing our paths will affect our lives
we can resist change but only at the risk of being unprepared
what we are seeing our brain tries to make sense of sometimes it just can’t
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