And they walk past you everyday, one million stories, each waiting to be told. Waiting for you to ask. Because you live. But very few, love.
If you said you’d do the thing you said you’d do alone, then go boldly into the wilderness and may your own soul be company enough, while you do the thing you said you’d do.
Where you are, right here and now, this is how bad stories end. But it’s also how the best stories, begin.
A sea made of tears from every lover who never loved.
And it may look to you like I’m just walking through your city with my head held high. But in my head, I am not in your city.
All persons entering a heart do so at their own risk.
Love doesn’t fade. It just changes as it grows.
There is no music, just the sound of the wind and the leaves it touches. But hopefully that’ll be music enough, for you.
And now everyone else I ever love is going to think me boring. Because I used it all up on you.
The Handmade Collection The problem with you is that all your scars have other people’s names on them. Even though each scar is handmade by you.
My thoughts of you are as real as any part of you.
I know I’m only borrowing it. I know I have to give Summer back to you. Just as you, have to give Winter, back to me.
Anyone could be someone if only you looked a little closer.
That rain is beautiful. And so are you.
The Truth Is Ugly In the movies, the person leaving you never has a blocked nose when they cry. And all their tears are pretty.
Which is why you make me feel like a moth that’s reached the moon.
I hope one day you get to love someone like you love breathing air or drinking water. Like they are fundamental to your existence, needed and necessary.
I know the clowns wipe the fake, makeup smiles off their faces once the show is done.
I built you a house and a garden inside my head. I know you’ll be happy there.
Try to remember what you said you’d do and why you said you’d do it.
For in you, is where I still live.