“I dream about the lover I wish I had, and all the ways I could be touched by him.”

If this love is going to break me, at least make my suffering sweet. I want to know what you taste like in sweltering summer heat.

If there’s still hope for the hopeless, there must be hope for us.

I imagine myself cold as ice falling into your open arms. Everyone says it’s beautiful where I am but I’d rather be where you are.

I write poetry in my sleep because you only visit me in my dreams.

Play me a symphony of love with your tongue. It doesn’t have to be romantic.

I watch in silence as day turns to dusk as our love turns to dust.

Desperate for answers, I go searching in the stars. I ask them: on a scale of one to catastrophe, how beautiful would they say we are?

I used every color on my palette to bring you back to life. Now you paint the most beautiful rainbows in someone else’s skies.

Your lips land on mine like a delicate prayer but I can still taste my mistakes years later.

I am still learning to love all the parts of me you kept hidden.

Static heart. Work of heart. Purify me with a dirty tongue.

Understand my soul – it’s the only love language I care for you to know.

I set sail eagerly and hungrily on the sea of love, to which there is no end in sight – only bright beginnings.

You are a waterfall of a woman. It’s no wonder why you’re always ready to spill.

He looks at me as if I’m the flame and he’s the sea; he’d turn his tide for a chance to burn with me.

Rain over me. I’ll still set like the sun for you.

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful.

A book is a dream that you hold in your hands.

Will I ever rise above the shackles of my mundane reality? I know I could fly as high as dreams.

That which is dreamed can never be lost, can never be undreamed.

Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes and forgot.

But we can aim too high. Or too low. Or too chaotically. So we fail and live in disappointment, even when we appear to others to be living well.

It is my firm belief that the best way to fix the world – a handyman’s dream, if ever there was one – is to fix yourself.

Dreams shed light on the dim places where reason itself has yet to voyage.