“Maybe true love is too much.”

Let me be like the leaves on the trees. Let me sway with the gentlest breeze.

If trees looked at fallen leaves and gave up, we would have no forests.

Not all love lives forever. But is it not love still? The maybe and the almost. And the love that never will.

I have loved you and missed you all for so long. That even this feeling feels like home.

You’re the kind of song, I want to hear on repeat. For a lifetime.

Like the endless stars in the skies. I love you, more than you know. And I miss you, more than I am allowed.

Maybe when I pour my words on paper. Maybe it’ll feel like how it might feel wrapping you in my arms.

When you love, I hope you don’t sail. I hope you drown.

Be your own flower. And bloom.

Just because you’re leaving, doesn’t mean I’m letting go.

I was supposed to be your sunshine. But it rained.

Like flowers, I hope, My love makes you bloom.

I’m a little bit scared of how you make me feel.

I could write pages of poetry about you. And yet words never seem to say enough.

Every day I hope to be with you. And every day I let you go.

Love. And let it break your heart. For what is life without love.