“Maybe water is not entirely lost when soaked into sand. Maybe it finds a better resting place to call home; and I hope she did too.”

Today I can see the cracks on the wall they’re visible; but I can tell they are finding their way to soil, And so am I.

All through the depression, I was the soft toy in the hands of a baby with sharp teeth.

After healing I’ll run back to her – of course this poem demands a brutal ending!

It is my dying wish to travel around the world; to feel this hurt in a slightly different way!

Sometimes even in pain we smile to the world until we think we’re dying.

The broken worlds we hide inside; that’s how we start to die!

Most days missing her is my only choice between death and dying.

Often times the language is different; by which I mean, I love her, and it’s the only stammer I’ve ever known.

I’ve seen it, I know it too; love still dances in the fire after the rescue.

I forget how our story started; but these days I’m finding the missing pieces behind every exhale, where I left the words standing with sore feet.

I can feel the dust of her skin in my skin; and I think maybe that means these bones of mine have grown weary of crying too.

This ‘missing you’ It begs for water; it cries your name.

Please the night’s cold, not her name again!

In the end not every bleeding thing dies; at least, not like a paper plays in fire.

I don’t think the world is ever getting better; I guess maybe people just find new ways to hide what kills them.

I guess we all understand the love language fine; but maybe truth is we’re just too fluent in goodbyes.

It is better to live rich than to die rich.

Every man ought to be in love a few times in his life, and to have a smart attack of the fever. You are better for it when it is over: the better for your misfortune, if you endure it with a manly heart; how much the better for success, if you win it and a good wife into the bargain!

It’s better to look at the sky than live there.

Better hope deferred than none.

Better to make a good future than predict a bad one.

What is better than wisdom? Woman. And what is better than a good woman? Nothing.

When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.