Favorite Quote:
Outside the station, she stands with her child on the side of the street, taking pictures of cars.<br /> <br /> You think she&#039;s insane. Until, one day, you notice that she&#039;s taking pictures of the license plates of the cars her child gets into.<br /> <br /> Because you look. But you do not see.<br /> <br /> And she walks out the shop with bags full of cat food. You think she&#039;s some crazy cat lady until you find out, she has no cats.<br /> <br /> Because you eat. But you do not taste.<br /> <br /> It&#039;s been a while since their last album but he assures you, he&#039;s doing just fine these days, white flecks in his nostrils. Then he asks you if he can spend the night on your couch, even though it stinks.<br /> <br /> Because you sniff. But you do not smell.<br /> <br /> And they say &quot;Just OK&quot; when you ask them how school was. Then you wonder what they&#039;re hiding until you find their diary and the last entry reads &quot;I wish you&#039;d give me some privacy.&quot;<br /> <br /> Because you listen. But you do not hear.<br /> <br /> And they&#039;ve got a bruise over their eye and you run the tips of your fingers over it and ask them how it happened. You believe them. Until it happens again.<br /> <br /> Because you touch. But you do not feel.<br /> <br /> And they walk past you everyday, one million stories, each waiting to be told. Waiting for you to ask.<br /> <br /> Because you live. But very few, love.

Favorite Quote:
Outside the station, she stands with her child on the side of the street, taking pictures of cars.<br /> <br /> You think she&#039;s insane. Until, one day, you notice that she&#039;s taking pictures of the license plates of the cars her child gets into.<br /> <br /> Because you look. But you do not see.<br /> <br /> And she walks out the shop with bags full of cat food. You think she&#039;s some crazy cat lady until you find out, she has no cats.<br /> <br /> Because you eat. But you do not taste.<br /> <br /> It&#039;s been a while since their last album but he assures you, he&#039;s doing just fine these days, white flecks in his nostrils. Then he asks you if he can spend the night on your couch, even though it stinks.<br /> <br /> Because you sniff. But you do not smell.<br /> <br /> And they say &quot;Just OK&quot; when you ask them how school was. Then you wonder what they&#039;re hiding until you find their diary and the last entry reads &quot;I wish you&#039;d give me some privacy.&quot;<br /> <br /> Because you listen. But you do not hear.<br /> <br /> And they&#039;ve got a bruise over their eye and you run the tips of your fingers over it and ask them how it happened. You believe them. Until it happens again.<br /> <br /> Because you touch. But you do not feel.<br /> <br /> And they walk past you everyday, one million stories, each waiting to be told. Waiting for you to ask.<br /> <br /> Because you live. But very few, love.

Favorite Quote:
Outside the station, she stands with her child on the side of the street, taking pictures of cars.<br /> <br /> You think she&#039;s insane. Until, one day, you notice that she&#039;s taking pictures of the license plates of the cars her child gets into.<br /> <br /> Because you look. But you do not see.<br /> <br /> And she walks out the shop with bags full of cat food. You think she&#039;s some crazy cat lady until you find out, she has no cats.<br /> <br /> Because you eat. But you do not taste.<br /> <br /> It&#039;s been a while since their last album but he assures you, he&#039;s doing just fine these days, white flecks in his nostrils. Then he asks you if he can spend the night on your couch, even though it stinks.<br /> <br /> Because you sniff. But you do not smell.<br /> <br /> And they say &quot;Just OK&quot; when you ask them how school was. Then you wonder what they&#039;re hiding until you find their diary and the last entry reads &quot;I wish you&#039;d give me some privacy.&quot;<br /> <br /> Because you listen. But you do not hear.<br /> <br /> And they&#039;ve got a bruise over their eye and you run the tips of your fingers over it and ask them how it happened. You believe them. Until it happens again.<br /> <br /> Because you touch. But you do not feel.<br /> <br /> And they walk past you everyday, one million stories, each waiting to be told. Waiting for you to ask.<br /> <br /> Because you live. But very few, love.