11:11
Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory. This saying couldn’t be any truer than it is right now. I loved her (clichéd as it may sound) in more ways than the word could ever account. I loved her more than the palm trees love to sway in the breeze, more than the bird’s nests love to sit in the trees or more than the rain loves the ground upon which it falls. My love for her was neither wise nor honest, but it was strong. A pure thing that filled the room and escaped through every crevice. But love is complicated, some love is like a wolf howling at the moon, ignorant but passionate; another type of love is like a cricket song, dissonant but incessant. But my love, my love for her was music -complete. Her place in my heart was so deeply rooted that she eventually became a part of me. Those who read this may think that I just miss her, but this would be far from the truth. Or perhaps I do miss her, in a debilitatingly way filled with longing, like ...