Stormy skies, says Ernesto. He grieved for them. Summer rain. Childhood.

What if at the last moment, when the banquet table is set and the cymbals clash, there should appear suddenly, and wholly without warning, a silver platter on which even the blind could see that there is nothing more, and nothing less, than two enormous lumps of shit.

Dreams just need a little process, to turn to reality, be serious, Focused and committed.

It's not just other people we need to forgive, Mitch. " He finally whispered, "We also need to forgive ourselves.

Written By Mitch Albom

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