The temperature swings a thin line of ice surround an atmosphere and a heart. Glances she dodge freeze the warmth of well-being. In truth, her eyes widened. Was I wrong, to laugh with heart, to smile in gratitude, to cry with felicity?

"Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that's all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken, another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nuture it. You hold it. You dance with it. Life has to end. Love doesn't."

Happy 19th Birthday, Nanny Chen (: