Maybe all wars will end tomorrow. And maybe my high school sweetheart would never have said that she needed space. And maybe I would have continued traveling three hours each way on underground trains, from Bronx to Brooklyn and back, just to be near her. Maybe all wars will end tomorrow. And maybe Yolanda would have continued to confide in me about the pain of struggling with obesity. And maybe we would have continued to walk for miles every night, and talk about things that mattered in our lives. And maybe I would have never received a letter from her mother saying that she had died of an overdose. Maybe all wars will end tomorrow. And maybe Nick would never have bought that motorcycle, the one with the suped up engine. And maybe I would not have had to see him lying lifeless in the morgue, the friendly smile gone from his face. And maybe I would not have met his family with tears in my eyes, all of us mourning his loss. Maybe all wars will end tomorrow. And maybe Granny would not have fallen ill. And maybe when she told me she was proud of me I could have flown to her bedside and held her, and told her how much she means to me, and it is important to me that I make her proud. And maybe she would not have died days before my arrival, forever breaking my heart and causing me pain. Maybe all wars will end tomorrow. And maybe I can get a new heart. And maybe I can remember how to love. And maybe I can love again. And maybe I can love again. Anything is possible, maybe.