“His lips have confessed his love but her heart bleeds ice cold blood that doesn’t revive with the confession of life-giving moments, as she is someone who has surpassed the bonds of love.”

Moon and stars are what my dark sky has felt but with the story love of his existence.

She is a woman that stands upright with her hand on her sword and pen that protects the innocent with her courage.

Her stressed soul had windows of crushing shards of wilting petals screaming for life.

Everyday she spoke to her souls filled with tranquility until it bloomed fragrant vibes.

It has taken her countless lessons to let go the thorns that scarred her brutally.

You aren’t a caterpillar but a steel sheilded butterfly so roam freely outside your cocoon.

She is a woman, bold and courageous and a goddess.

She is a woman with courage flowing in her veins that shield the loved ones with all her might.

She wraps her cleansed mirrored soul around the filthy dirty lungs to free them towards sanity.

She is the fertile earth that blooms rubies with her blood and honor.

She breathes with ease only when she knows that her core is special just like her existence.

She wished he was her essence but he wasn’t even worth to breathe the air she lived in.

She is a voice that can never be silenced, even if her echoes are transformed from blood and ink to rare gems.

She is the guardian of innocent souls.

She was fearless, she loved her darkness and basked in her light.

She wished she never knew him, but how would she learn the lesson if it wasn’t because of his filth.

It is impossible to forgive someone if you feel superior to him or her.

The ordinary citizen is allowed to hear and think only as the rulers decree.

I want to cut off her head and take out her heart.

If a man hasn’t what’s necessary to make a woman love him, it’s his fault, not hers.

It’s hard to see someone with a ‘perfect’ body and be like, ‘Why can’t I be like her?’ But that person was born to be who she is, and you’re born to be who you are.

The wise soul feareth not death; rather she sometimes striveth for death, she goeth beyond to meet her. Yet eternity maintaineth her substance throughout time, immensity throughout space, universal form throughout motion.

She had so mastered the strategies of camouflage that her own history had seemed a series of well-placed mirrors that kept her hidden from herself.

One can be very much in love with a woman without wishing to spend the rest of one’s life with her.