Life...

Patience is a kind of love. A love that is its own explanation in bewildered circumstance. It is an old, old woman placing a wrinkled parchment hand against the cheek of a reckless child. Because her heart is too wise to make room for reproach. Too full to find place for offence.
So let d tym fly, let d life make his own move , i'll patiently wait 4 U.In course rong will be ryt.N u find me standing where u left me.:)