“You are a living breathing museum.”

I’m sorry if someone told you love was linear. They lied.

You could rip up the world with your truth.

I hope I show up so soft and warm in your dreams like you do in me.

I am a story you will tell someday and you will be smiling.

My heart is like the softest thing you will ever know.

It’s time to love and that is pretty much it.

Using your voice is so punk rock.

With you I am in bloom.

Its time to love and that is pretty much it.

I don’t want to be good all the time. I want to be messy and truthful and have purpose.

I was totally alive when I wrote this because by coincidence someone just said your name.

Love stories can be wild and sad little unkempt tales energetic and alive the only thing worth living for reality.

It doesn’t matter how cool you are if your heart is busted.

What if we are never the same after this. That’s the plan.

Love comes like it comes. You are not in charge.

I built you a whole city in my heart.

And every breath without you is torture, but at least I can finally breathe again.

I need to moment to breathe as from the chaos I dream to leave I know I’ll find my feet you won’t find me admitting defeat the calmness I miss I’d give anything for a moment of temporary bliss.

Kiss me tenderly, but if you take my breath away, promise you’ll help me catch it.

Crying so hard, I can’t hardly breathe.

In the pause between your breaths and the space between your heartbeats, I think I heard forever.

I will bring you all of my dead flowers if you will breathe me a promise of spring.

I’m breathing dreams like air, like there will never be enough of them to fill up the space in my lungs.

I breathe out light pleasing, soft, and warm – I’m still learning to breathe out fire.