“I found peace in my loneliness. I found solace in the quiet. I found love in my reflection.”

I’ve tried staying where its safe far away from the deep end. Only to find out people still drown in the shallow end.

you treat me like I’m expendable why is it so easy to let me go?

Letting go is not only okay it’s best.

There is nothing like the four walls of your arms wrapping around me when a storm is near.

I told myself – You’ve got this, Even though I don’t have it at all.

I feel everything to the bottom of its depth maybe its a gift, its probably a curse.

The outer part of me so cold like an armor impenetrable. The words you throw at me ricochet and hit you in the heart.

Shades of black intertwined in my being I try to see in color but darkness is all I’m seeing.

I still remember the first time I saw you, your aura radiated nostalgia of a time where I wanted something so much more than I wanted air.

I take for granted how much I love sad songs when I’m happy I forget how much they hurt when I’m broken.

Late at night I’m awake thinking. I’m afraid of what I’d do to be able to taste you again.

I’d rather be shot by a bullet than to be cut by your words. I’ll die cold on the pavement before I lie in the casket of your assurances.

I will be more than I was yesterday, even if that means I can’t take you with me.

I got what I wanted then I threw it away why do I mess up the only things that want to stay.

A smile made of promises and a heart made of broken chains. She was a beautiful contradiction.

And as you left my heart cried out then suddenly I was thankful that the cries of the heart can only be felt and not heard.

Leave my loneliness unbroken.

True artists are prophets. I don’t want to be that prophetic in that sense because it’s so lonely.

Often whole days pass without my speaking to anyone.

Often whole days pass without my speaking to anyone.

A great fire burns within me, but no one stops to warm themselves at it, and passers-by only see a wisp of smoke.

Sometimes it is necessary to be lonely in order to prove that you are right.

Writing, at its best, is a lonely life.

If we don’t have each other, we go crazy with loneliness. When we do, we go crazy with togetherness.