I was checking through my list of contacts in my Hotmail account today, when I realized I still had Sarah's old e-mail address. Even though the last e-mail I'd tried to send her had bounced, apparently I just never got around to deleting it. Seeing that was like having the wind knocked out of me - it just punctuated the fact for me that I can't send her e-mail ever again. I can't call her, talk to her, laugh with her, sit at Sunset Grill like we'd planned and drink wine until we got silly. Or in our case, sillier. I wanted to believe she was happy and that was why I hadn't heard from her. I wanted to believe that she and Isaac Tigrett were off seeing the world, because that's what she deserved. She had loved him for years, and had finally gotten him back into her life, and they deserved to be happy. What better life for a hippie than to be living her days out with the founder of the Hard Rock, for crying out loud? But now I'll never know how all that worked out because I never got to ask. Life is short and bittersweet; love is eternal.
On the ride into work this morning I let myself be lost in the foggy mist and enjoyed the last of the snow from this past weekend. It will no doubt be gone soon, soaked into the ground as if it never existed. Snow for me has always held a deeper meaning. I am happiest when it snows, yet I couldn't begin to explain why. So I looked out the window, imagining romantic characters striding across the pure white expanses, and just breathed in the beauty. Snow wraps around the seemingly dead landscape, and whispers promises of rebirth and renewal as it gently cradles the world in its soft, white blanket.
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