“Don’t bother finding a soulmate. Your aunt tells you, your fluffy scrambled eggs are the best she’s had and dammit, you can enjoy those all by yourself. No need to share the wealth.”

If I had a wishing well, I’d wish you well. That the skies hold the key to all you’ve ever wanted, with or without me.

It wasn’t enough fading under surfaces, below waves, swollen pufferfish retracting this inflated love that not even you could believe in.

I hide behind olive branches. So afraid of others knowing what lay beneath the broken rifle. The reality hitting the pavement like bullets that stem from war.

The moon may bring peace, but the sun, she offers resilience.

And when I walk alone, I speak in deaf tones. I’m screaming and no one knows, no one knows. No one pays attention to where the sound goes.

Remember me in burnt coffee mornings, warm hugs, fresh sunday snow. Know that you loved me too cautiously.

The autumn breeze carves out an ache in your memory.

Caution! This vehicle stops quite frequently when overwhelmed.

I miss you a little less each day. You’re just a faded memory now – delicate; tucked away.

You are worthy of feeling incredibly and unapologetically alive.

What a shame – how the taste of you could rot even the cedar and cypress. How you fooled the redwood into believing narcissus’ pond was made for two.

It’s time for me to dust off this weary heart so that I may open it to one whose only open to me. You’re going to miss me when I’m gone and it’ll be too late.

My god is a moment, a whimsical idea, a whisper. A hope bending itself into a prayer.

Love is believable. I reckon I’ll just see it when I see it.

You have always been enough. Allow yourself to finally feel it.

What an intimidating kind of beauty a rainbow holds. Then of course, there’s the jealously dripping between vampirish teeth of those who dare mock it.

Love and scandal are the best sweeteners of tea.

Solitude sometimes is best society.

Nature’s law, That man was made to mourn. Man’s inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn! O Death, the poor man’s dearest friend, The kindest and the best!

Tea! The panacea for everything from weariness to a cold to a murder Love and scandal are the best sweeteners of tea.

He tells me he is broken and love isn’t for him. Someone please go tell him, heart break births the best of lovers.

The upright, honest-hearted man Who strives to do the best he can, Need never fear the church’s ban Or hell’s damnation.

The best of women are hypocrites.

If there’s another world, he lives in bliss; if there is none, he made the best of this.