Your eyes are beautiful as they skim over my delicately chosen words, he wrote.

Words came quickly to his mind, but never stayed too long. He never could make them linger long enough so that he could roll them around in his mouth or ponder over the awe of them.

No, words come to Sam at the worst times; which is why he is hunched over his Calculus notebook, furiously scribbling the words onto paper before they disappear for good.

But words also come to Sam during miraculous times; they give him hope for tomorrow when it seems the soundtrack of his life will forever be rain and they give him dreams of loving someone infinitely, without question, failure or doubt.


Sam interjected: Ah, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that this is just another one of those stories. But that’s why I am here; to tell you that you are wrong. I am not what you think.


No, my words do not resemble that soggy piece of bread under the disappointing sandwich that your mom packed you again for lunch. I am here to tell you that I am not soggy bread.

What I am, is a story; a story that I want you to know.
But since she is my beautiful angel, I’ll let her tell her story first.