“Undo the buttons that close the fabric of my heart, with care. Its fragile fibres have been ripped out too many times to bear.”

Free spirit, The world is yours.

The longer you sit in the field, forcing fragile stalks together, the more you value the loops, the links that stay. And the less you miss the ones that snap and blow away.

Even when your tears have soaked through the last pages of your book, the sun will dry them and illuminate every word of your story.

So keep rowing against the current, no one ever made an epic voyage through smooth sailing.

You lit a flame in me that could start wildfires.

I pined for the whole of you, but all I ever got was half. I waited and gave you twice of me-yet still it wasn’t enough.

The silence was broken with the music of your pain, but with every note i could see a part of you healing.

Whiskey lips and sunset trips to places we always spoke of, wind in hair we had no care for what tomorrow was made of.

I believed in the magic we made, but you were the magician and i was merely your puppet on stage.

Why not accept your beautiful mess? and care a little less?

Some of us will touch the sky, others will cradle the moon and some will enter a whole new galaxy. What a fortune.

The trauma, lies and pain, you chose to forget, are the ingredients for the greatest triumphs yet.

I started to see shadows everywhere the light fell, I guess i hoped one of them would be yours waiting to share the light with me.

Never be afraid to quench your own thirst, sing your own song or put yourself first.

Your air fuels the last of my burning embers, for one final fire.

I am more than this skin I am in, And once you see that, we all win.

People know it’s not easy, and even though you have strong feeling and desire and endless love, it doesn’t always happen.

Preserved from annihilation only by the care, the work and the love we give our fragile craft.

The older you get, the more fragile you understand life to be. I think that’s good motivation for getting out of bed joyfully each day.

Indians scattered on dawn’s highway bleeding/Ghosts crowd the young child’s fragile eggshell mind.

And love’s the noblest frailty of the mind.

I am fierce yet fragile – cradle me with care, I can shred your soul, light you on fire, or send you into the dark abyss – the difference between us is – I wouldn’t dare.

The glory of riches and of beauty is frail and transitory; virtue remains bright and eternal.

Read me gently and unhurriedly. Please. My pages crumble at your slightest touch.