“If the wind itself turned to silk, singing ballads in my lungs, it couldn’t even hope to match the softness of your touch.”

We suffered. We worried. We lost. We wept. But loved, and laughed, and cared, and helped.

You proved to me that I can lose something I never even had in the first place.

I hope the world never steals us from ourselves.

Everything turns out okay in the end, so what is the point in worrying?

Don’t act strong when everything wrong, when everything hurts and your energy’s gone.

There’s more to life than this. There’s more to life than this. Although it doesn’t seem like it, there’s more to life than this.

And I must learn every language to find a word that describes your beauty.

Enough of this. The next one I love will return my passion.

These thoughts will kill me if I don’t express them.

Your sorrowful beauty can soften a stone, and dampen the eyes of a god.

Look beyond their words. A whole world lies in what people never say.

The only thing that scares me more than standing out is not standing out at all.

Find your home. You’ll know it instantly; it will be the place you never wish to flee from.

Just be a lily, blooming in the dying waste of a choking world.

How do you use so many words to say nothing at all?

One day, you’ll leave. And my heart will close like a weeping ipomoea never to open again.