“She breathed love like air. She was Paris turned human.”

It’s january, it’s cold and I search the sky for summer like I always do.

August died but summer lived on with your kiss.

The open road is the wanderer’s wonderland.

We were half a summer love but a forever kind of memory.

He was the hope that died with the last day of summer.

The open road is the wanderer’s wonderland.

It’s january, it’s cold and I search the sky for summer like I always do.

Silent lips speak the deepest truths.

Nights were made for broken hearts.

We always live for the summer until we don’t live it at all.

I lost and found myself in all your maybe’s.

I live in the imaginary wild and its soft as summer.

Sometimes getting lost is just the right direction.

Today, she decided to sparkle. And so she did.

I see the world in shades of you.

It takes effort to make it to forever.

I waited, quietly listened, cupped my ear to your mouth, but silence echoed grievously in the absence of sound. It was only warm breath and then emptiness.

Worship is when we give God His breath back.

Manners are of more importance than laws. Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible operation, like that of the air we breathe.

Sundays are for moving gently, breathing softly, and living slowly.

Every Christian became a missionary the moment God breathed his Spirit into him or her.

Take a deep breath, listen to your favorite song and realize everything is gonna be okay, nothing is permanent.

Conversation, n.: A vocal competition in which the one who is catching his breath is called the listener.

I am made of sunsets. I am always changing, sometimes breathtaking, and sometimes too tired to put on a show.