You were you, and I was I; we were two before our time. I was yours before I knew, and you have always been mine too.
Before I fell in love with words, with setting skies and singing birds— it was you I fell in love with first.
Love is a game of tic-tac-toe, constantly waiting for the next x or o.
Like time suspended, a wound unmended-- you and I. We had no ending, no said goodbye; For all my life, I'll wonder why.
A Stranger There is a love I reminisce, Like a seed I've never sown. Or lips that im yet to kiss, and eyes not met my own. Hands that wrap around my wrists, and arms that feel like home. I wonder how it is I miss, these things I've never known.
Here are the things I want for you - I want you to be happy. I want someone else to know the warmth of your smile, to feel the way I did when I was in your presence. I want you to know how happy you once made me and though you really did hurt me, in the end, I was better for it. I don't know if what we had was love, but if it wasn't, I hope to never fall in love. Because of you, I know I am too fragile to bear it. I want you to remember my lips beneath your fingers and how you told me things you never told another soul. I want you to know that I have kept sacred, everything you had entrusted in me and I always will. Finally, I want you to know how sorry I am for pushing you away when I had only meant to bring you closer. And if I ever felt like home to you, it was because you were safe with me. - I want you to know that most of all.
Letting him go There is a particular kind of suffering to be experienced when you love something greater than yourself. A tender sacrifice. Like the pained silence felt in the lost song of a mermaid; or the bent and broken feet of a dancing ballerina. It is in every considered step I am taking in the opposite direction of you.
I don't think all writers are sad, she said. I think it's the other way around— all sad people write.
Hands are no longer hands. They are caresses. Mouths are no longer mouths. They are kisses. My name is no longer a name, it is a call. And love is no longer love — love is you.
She lends her pen, to thoughts of him, that flow from it, in her solitary. For she is his poet, And he is her poetry.
Xs and Os Love is a game of tic-tac-toe, constantly waiting, for the next x or o.
Stardust
 If you came to me with a face I have not seen, with a voice I have never heard, I would still know you. Even if centuries separated us, I would still feel you. Somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creation, there is a pulse that echoes of you and I.
 When we leave this world, we give up all our possessions and our memories. Love is the only thing we take with us. It is all we carry from one life to the next.
Saving You The darkness takes him over, the sickness pulls him in; his eyes—a blown out candle, I wish to go with him. Sometimes I see a flicker— a light that shone from them; I hold him to me tightly, before he's gone again.
People who are prone to sadness are more likely to pick up a pen.
Every letter that she types; every keystroke that she strikes- To spell your name again and again, is all she ever wants to write.
Here's to those who wish us well, and the rest can go to hell!
The feeling is like the ocean. Sometimes calm and still; other times, it's a hurricane.
In the words of Jean de La Fountaine, 'A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.
Whatever path you choose will take you to the same destination. The only thing that should guide you is your intuition.
Time You were the one I wanted most to stay. But time could not be kept at bay. The more it goes, the more it's gone— the more it takes away.
