“As leaves cover the forest floor in a carpet of vibrant rusts, orange and gold, autumn proves that sometimes death too can be a beautiful thing.”

The absence of abuse does not automatically equal a healthy relationship. The absence of trauma does not automatically equal joy.

And I return home always. Because love’s call has always been stronger than the moon’s.

Love yourself loudly, dangerously, everywhere people have been afraid to love you, afraid to ask the way to cherish you, afraid to hold you. Love yourself most in these places, because who can be a better teacher to others in how to love you than yourself.

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.

I am a child of autumn: At home amongst things that only know of falling.

Autumn comes to the sea with a fresh blaze of phosphorescence, when every wave crest is aflame. Here and there the whole surface may glow with sheets of cold fire, while below schools of fish pour through the water like molten metal.

Autumn nights carry the most colourful dreams through the empty woods.

Let autumn be proof that change is a beautiful thing even tho it can be hard to see at first.

I am learning to let go like autumn. I am learning to grow like spring.

On bitter autumn nights your name lies at the tip of my tongue, as silent memories of us come to haunt me.

Our love was of the autumn- heady, golden and pure. But limited, always doomed to expire.

Autumn leaves don’t fall, they fly.