“When the grass turns brown nobody seems to care. It’s just temporary, they say yet I can feel it will stay and stay.”

Would you want to breathe if you were to ask for oxygen? Would you want to drink if you were to beg for a glass of water? would you want to eat if you were to pray for a plate of food? Well, I wouldn’t.

No matter where we are, what air we breathe or which stars we are under. Your eyes always take me to dream land; that inner child-like peace of mind. That I crave when you’re gone and afar and I only see you when in my sleep.

I can truly see myself in that light, the green iris of my eye like a jungle, full of life. And when snow covers the green, and my skin looses its color I crave that wilderness in my eye.

I don’t want to get down I want to get high. To stay high to fly high out of it.

I’m dehydrated, lacking the water you pour into me every time we drown in each other’s navy blue oceans.

Peace is when I am cuddled up in a snug wool blanket with a hot coffee in hand without worry in mind, so I can dream about red sunsets and the scent of warm, sun kissed bodies.

And, somehow that loved and loving girl can love anyone but herself.

Finding inner peace is a lost art for with every breath and sigh new stimuli comes and leaves us in a pool of racing thoughts and worries.

I want you here beside me, to make me feel like the only pearl you’d be looking for in the ocean.

Should you find the most convenient way of breathing, it will not make you feel more alive.

On the verge of what is there to see, a beautiful landscape of the sea washing away what we’re made off, looking back we drown we fall.

Do you recognize your voice, the one that’s coming from your own mouth, when words are forming on your tongue?

Curled up in a ball slowly shutting down as my body is being devoured by those ugly, fearsome monsters that have lived in my guts ever since I could remember.

So grand yet so small, so important yet so irrelevant, so beautiful yet so shallow, must thee live in illusion or does real life leave too much of a confusion?

Hatred conquers the sea in which is growing thee them tiny pearls struggling a little trying to solve the final riddle.

And when I was looking at myself in the mirror, I realized that beneath these scars lies a woman, that is good that is kind, that I myself aspired to be.

Now people think it’s cool to have a baby, but it ain’t cool to take care of it. We have to change that. You make your life for that baby. That’s the future.

While you are proclaiming peace with your lips, be careful to have it even more fully in your heart.

Being an artist is this kind of occupation in which you have to make people care about your obsession.

What Leo does is so incredible that I have to be careful not to stand still watching him make his moves.

It just kills me to see people lose someone they love, so I want to do as much as I can: give money to doctors and hospitals; get nurses in there that care; put a smile on a little kid’s face.

That’s what careless words do. They make people love you a little less.

How carelessly imperial power vivisected ancient civilizations. Palestine and Kashmir are imperial Britain’s festering, blood-drenched gifts to the modem world. Both are fault lines in the raging international con�icts of today.

It only takes a minute to cause hurt but sometimes a lifetime to repair. Be careful with your words and actions.