“Your silence and my overthinking is a kind of hell.”

Drank about you last night, hungover you this morning.

I’m a romantic and that’s the tragedy.

If only you could hold my heart and understand what you left behind.

If only I could kiss you as often as I think about it.

I must have loved you before, in another life, beyond a dream, across centuries.

I just want to be held without having to explain myself.

Imagine how you’ll love when healed.

It breaks my heart that some people are only kind when there is something in it for them. Everything is a business now, including human decency.

Nobody warns you about the fact that you have to go to war if you want to know peace.

Mouths that know desperation like, “the last kiss.

Our story was never one to be told, but know that I remain loving you from here.

A hand that holds what the heart knows it must let go of.

When you’re feeling doubtful, remember that an idea set forth with hard work can create miracles.

If I feel everything, is that a gift or a burden?

We couldn’t be friends because God knows we were meant to be lovers. Doomed to never belong to each other.

When everything feels a little less real, life becomes all the more frightening.