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

The hardest goodbyes are the ones you never got to say.

My dearest contradiction. You are soft and obliterating, like the moon’s glare upon a sinner.

I’d prefer to wield a rose than to wield the gun.

We parted sadly, like children in the street on a pleasant june afternoon.

I ache and long and feel in a language older than ours; one without words or phrases, consisting only of melancholy.

Every word I write is crude and weak when it comes to conveying you how much I appreciate you.

We are all marks of condensation on polished glass; steadily fading away.

The only person you’ll spend your entire life with is yourself. You should be your first focus.

Branches bow, longing to reach the crisp, punctured leaves, their old shedded skin.

People are good. No matter what. Beneath the rage and fear lies a wounded heart. We must do what we can do to heal it.

Make the choice; to be comfortable or to be alive.

The flowers burn the grass, a thousand splendid suns; and life returns to everything as hope refills my lungs.

You’re an ocean that I can’t navigate. If storms wrack your surface, I dread to think what horrors lie in your depths.

The deepest relationships belong to the friends who were one lovers, and the lovers who were once friends.

The sun has one lesson for us: learn to see the light on a rainy day.

You are an ocean. I know your colors and the sound of your waves, but I’ll never see beneath your surface.