“There’s too much hurt in loving but too little life in not.”

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.

It’s not songs that remind me of lost lovers. It’s poems.

With each daydream she weaved her pastel heart into the sky.

Spring is poetry poured into nature.

I dreamed in skies of blue before september stole all the light.

She loves her lonely moments the silence away from the crowds, when its just her daydreaming.

Her afternoon tea is a fountain of daydreams.

Perhaps I know best why it is man alone who laughs; he alone suffers so deeply that he had to invent laughter.

A pen went scribbling along. When it tried to write love, it broke.

Let silence take you to the core of life.

While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die.

Don’t judge me by my past. I don’t live there anymore.

Trust is like the air we breathe. When it’s present, nobody really notices; when it’s absent, everybody notices.

The only antidote to mental suffering is physical pain.

There are always two sides to every story.