Every Breath

by Nicholas Sparks

There are stories that rise from mysterious, unknown places, and others that are discovered, a gift from someone else.

The destiny that matters most in anyone’s life is the one concerning love.

A life, after all, is simply a series of little lives, each of them lived one day at a time, and every single one of those days has choices and consequences. Piece by piece, those decisions help to form the people we become.

sun was sinking lower and the sky had fanned into a thousand shades of yellow and orange.

Despite the confusion on her face, she was beautiful, with untamed auburn hair and eyes the color of turquoise.

“One of the great things about a leaf,” he said to her, “is that it reminds you to live as well as you can for as long as you can, until it’s finally time to let go and allow yourself to drift away with grace.”

Hope ran a hand through her hair, tucking loose strands behind her ear. There were wispy clouds on the horizon, the kind that would likely burn off as the morning progressed. It would be a perfect afternoon for a glass of wine, maybe some cheese and crackers, or even oysters on the half shell. Add some candles and some sultry R&B, and… Why was she thinking such things?

There was an air of vulnerability and loneliness behind her smile, as if she was wrestling with something troubling. Maybe even a few somethings.

Da Vinci once said that art is never finished but only abandoned,

Dear Lena, The sands in the hourglass have fallen without mercy throughout my life, but I try to remind myself of the blessed years that we shared—especially now, when I am drowning in riptides of sorrow and loss. I wonder who I am without you. Even when I was old and tired, it was you who helped me face the day. I sometimes felt as though you could read my mind. You seemed to always know what I wanted and needed. Even though we had our struggles at times, I can think back on the more than half a century we spent together and know that I was the lucky one. You inspired and fascinated me, and I walked just a bit taller because you were by my side. Every time I held you, I felt as though I needed nothing else. I would trade anything to hold you just one more time. I want to smell your hair, and sit at the dinner table with you. I want to watch as you cook the fried chicken that always made my mouth water, the meal the doctor warned me against eating. I want to see you slip your arms into the blue sweater I bought you for your birthday, the one you usually wore in the evenings, when you settled beside me in the den. I want to sit with our children and grandchildren, and Emma, our one and only great-grandchild. How can I be this old? I think when I hug her, but when I listen for you to tease me about it, I never hear your voice. And it always breaks my heart. I’m not good at this. Spending my days alone. I miss your knowing smile, and I miss the sound of your voice. Sometimes ...

Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her spark.

“You’re…indescribably beautiful,” he finally whispered. “Truly.”

“I put out some olives if you want to nibble on something.”

Memories are a doorway to the past, and the more one treasures the memories, the wider the door will open.

The disappointments she’d experienced hadn’t hardened into either anger or bitterness, but rather acceptance that life seldom turns out the way that one imagines it will.

“Grief is always the price we pay for love,”

And I thought also about the love they’d always felt for each other—like stars in the daytime sky, unseen, but always present.