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

And I try, I so try to fit everywhere, with everyone to be neutral, to be good and with all that, I lose myself. I lose the truest layer of all.

I feel all that, your touch your presence your breath but can’t tell if its you I’m looking at.

Yet now as we grow older why must we be frightened of being tranquil?

We have to remember to do small things every single day and minute for sometimes love is simply not enough to fill our cup.

How is it possible that with one stare I’m in flames and no fire extinguisher shall help me? and so here I stand a tree burning from inside out of love from you.

This feeling in my chest is telling me to stay to do as I should, to be where I should but my mind is telling me to go away.

Even on the darkest days the sun still rises.

A feeling deliciously bitter lingers on my tongue. It’s sharp relish urges me to keep my mouth shut and my conscience clear. Though how can one act so when one’s veins are stuffed with what’s not said before?

We laid in bed with our hands tied, talked about love and clear, summer skies.

Each and every bad seed counts, for even if they don’t survive or grow too beautifully, a bad seed allows you to re-evalutate the others and appreciate them even more.

I cried today and I cried yesterday, Salty tears rushing down. My face fastened breaths, palms in sweat and the unbearable guilt of my being.

Everyday I am finding neverland in your touch just a little bit more than the day before.

Sometimes you don’t miss the place, the time but the state of mind.

I gave all of my vulnerability away for you, to you exposed the dirt of my soul not understood. Kept on, waiting for hope, in despair.

Blissful comfort of pain and sorrow ravishes my rationality and drinks up my hope, for even thee whom I romanticize so deeply leaves me in a pool of intrusive thoughts telling me no matter what I say or do even the mirror despises you.

For the most important type of love is love for oneself and only you can hear all of your beautiful verses that never got to see the light of the day.

I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy to be alive as long as I can paint.

You don’t have to have a reason to feel good, you’re alive; you can feel good for no reason at all!

The meaning of life is just to be alive. It is so plain and so obvious and so simple. And yet, everybody rushes around in a great panic as if it were necessary to achieve something beyond themselves.

I had reasoned this out in my mind; there was on of two things I had a right to, liberty or death; if I could not have one, I would have the other; for no man should take me alive.

I am happy to be alive, as long as I can paint.

I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.

I would like to make a film to tell children “it’s good to be alive”.

The world is more alive at night; it’s like God isn’t looking.