“All the poetry in the world could not put us together again.”

I loved you even when it hurt.

In the end you learn when to let go and when to hold on.

I loved you as Icarus loved the sun- too close, too much.

The worst goodbye is the one you never thought you’d have to say.

How sad, to face a future without the one you planned it with.

If it isn’t Happy Ending yet, keep writing.

We’ll go slow, together,

I wish it had meant as little to me, as it did to you.

And life went on. It was not the same, but it went on.

Who you want and who you need and sometimes two different people.

We were almost fine, almost together.

Of all the lies I have ever lived, my favorite was You and I.

Almost. Maybe. Perhaps. Nearly. So close- A collection of the saddest words.

And nobody is winning the war inside me.

Some people can be in your memories but not in your life.

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

Great poetry needs no interpreter other than a responsive heart.

In the house of poetry nothing endures that is not written with blood to be heard with blood.

What inspires me about rap is that it’s written in an almost poetic way. I just think it’s so cool.

We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race.

Poetry is a kind of ingenious nonsense.

Those who write clearly have readers, those who write obscurely have commentators.

Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.

Writing is the geometry of the soul.