Some kind of truth

When you first meet someone, the first few seconds, if you're lucky enough, you get a glimpse of their soul. A flashback. Or flash forward. A premonition... But make no mistake, it only lasts a mere instant and it is not long before logic takes over and that voice inside you grows weaker and weaker until it dissolves completely.

I always counted on the wind to show me where to go. And it is that same wind that draws people together; or drives them apart. Yet it all changes in a way and speed almost incomprehensible to us. Of three things I am certain: The postman always rings twice, umbrellas are unreliable and people always leave.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost


Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.