“The glint of mischief in your eyes is the flint in my matchstick. Striking; always this close to igniting.”

Love me until oblivion paints your portraits on my eyelids, sinking by eons into distance that never separates us.

I don’t know how to put my love down, or to keep holding too much of it.

Your darkness does not scare me, nor will I run from you; like a star, I’m falling for the phases of your moon.

We usually seek the divine in the sky, But religion is best found on the ground. Nature is our true creator.

When I was a child, I used to fear monsters under the bed. I have since learned that most monsters are found within. And they are always worth fighting.

I pressed the dress to my nose, and found what was left of your ghost. It was then that I remembered how to cry.

To the oppressed with no seat on the table; dreaming of change and better days, I will pull up a chair, and light fires in your name.

I was looking for you in all the places our love used to be. When all along I should have been looking for me.

Some days, my mind will still be in prison, but I will live in spite of it. I unlearn how to swim; I trade my gills for lungs and wings.

I would throw down roots with you if I ever had the chance. We’d grow strong in tender shoots, and bloom in burning hands.

Creatives are neither born nor created. They are activated.

The search for external sources is nothing compared to internal forces.

Our memories lurch to a reluctant halt in their funeral march, so I can pour salt over them one last time.

Emotion = Energy in motion.

In my dreams you conjure me like a spell in the night. Let us haunt one another with uneasy peace, and die burning alive.

It quietly stops my breath to realize that my greatest grand gesture, my last, best act of love was to let you go.