“Girls like her were born in a storm. They have lightning in their souls. Thunder in their hearts. And chaos in their bones.”

The bird building her home on your windowsill has every nest destroyed before. The spider that is delicately weaving a masterpiece has had every single thread broken before. And despite it all, they try again.

Girls who survive trauma do wear a certain vulnerability around them, but this kind of vulnerability is from where their greatest strength stems.

Forgive her for how her agony reveals itself, child. This is how blood magic works. Unconditional never meant perfect anyway.

Perfection in imperfection. Someone whose flaws work well with yours.

You have belonged better in your own arms than in anyone else’s. Remember you are the softest love you will ever have.

You need not fear the wolves you hide in your soul. They were made not to hurt you, but to protect you against this world.

Become fluent in the language of letting go. Learn to give people up before they hurt you beyond repair.

She didn’t just wait for someone to come and rescue her from her discontent and strife, instead she took matters into her own hands and empowered her own future, her own life.

There is an art in the emptiness of all natural things.

Maybe magic ends with me and it will never cross your path, but I want you to remember that survival is an art. The world is falsehood so you rely on your smarts.

I’d like to think our love does return to us reincarnated in different human forms. That people might be temporary, but love is permanent and it just changes form.

There is a spell for almost anything and if there’s not a spell, there is at least a poem.

When I set out to find my father, I was not being brave. I was acting out of fear or losing the only parent I ever had. They may want you to believe I was simple being brave, but anxiety makes more heroes than history would care to repeat.

Because girls who were building empires for themselves did not need kingdoms to shine.

The river takes what she wants, does what she desires, and washes over anything that stands in her way.

I had hoped one day to find someone who loves my monsters, the wolves that I feed, the demons I sing to sleep, the tiger that is my caged heart, the parts of me I do not talk about. I prayed and wished and yearned until I realized that I had already found her within me.

But what have we learnt without the chaos?

It felt as if the sky would collapse into itself when she was near, a beautifully destructive chaotic thing.

There is chaos behind the civility, of course.

Art is the opposite of chaos. Art is organized chaos.

And I will love you from your beautiful chaos to your moonlight smile.

The landscape becomes human, becomes a thinking, living being within me. I become one with my picture…we merge in an iridescent chaos.

Having tried to give pattern to the chaos which lives within the pattern of your certainties, I must come out, I must emerge.

In a work of art, chaos must shimmer through the veil of order.