“We are broken. But never beyond repair.”

I think there is miracle always spilling into something.

I know the light, but I cannot see it.

Let us be the impossible.

Honestly, I just want to love without the fear of losing anything.

Yes, there are wounds but we are not conquered.

When you hold my hand and it feels like a fresh dream.

There is always a bit of love whispering from somewhere.

But when has worry ever produced a miracle?

But I must admit. I am desperate for hope.

Tell me, what is hope if not a sweet, sweet companion?

Falling apart to fall together again.

Don’t be afraid to feel everything.

Our hearts; the greatest revolution.

Forgiveness – nectar for the soul. A heartbeat.

Most days, I am the rain. – And that’s okay.

All of this heartache is a war story.

Only humans have the tendency to break something and be disgusted by the pieces.

My dear, Don’t be scared of love because what broke you back then wasn’t love at all.

I’m not saying I don’t miss you it’s just that, now when I do it no longer hurts.

As if flesh and skin and hands are any match for bullets. As if bones won’t crack in hails of powder and lead. As if rivers of blood are not the direct result of trigger fingers that bend but do not break on “bad days”.

What treaty that the whites have kept has the red man broken? Not one.

What is love? sometimes two people not together.

I have known love and I have known loss, but in the end, they both looked a lot like you.

When I broke into professional hockey at 17 I was told that I was too small and too slow and I wouldn’t make the NHL. Now it’s kind of flip-flopped and the sense is I can’t be a good coach because I was a great athlete.