It's like my dreams are icicles. I see them and they are beautiful and sometimes they are within my reach, but once I try to grasp them they break, or I get ahold of them and I slowly watch myself destroy them as they drip through my fingers.

Oh, how time changes things.

It's been a year flat, and I never expected any of it.
I'm surprisingly pleased, content, and questioning simultaneously.

Your heart is like a hill of dippin' dots.