“If your eyes could speak what stories would it tell? Would it even be able to speak or would it end up choking on all the water?”

I had gone so blind in fixing your broken pieces i forgot to see how you kept breaking mine.

You said i was your forever, so where are you now my lover?

Ripped in pieces soaked in love, unheard battles all won, I’m proud of you heart of what you’ve become.

Love is only pain in disguise.

Breathing is hard, my mind and heart both at war. This anxiety makes my living so hard!

If you knew the way you made my heart break and eyes tear, you would curse your existence .

I wonder how many heartaches must i conquer, to finally find a love that stays?

I am fire, carrying the potential to burn whole forests down, and only because it feels inconvenient i will not settle for a flame.

Don’t look at her kind eyes and mistake it for kindness, you are yet unaware about the audacity in her bones and strength in her veins.

I want someone to kiss my scars and tell me I’m beautiful still, that even after my scars I’m worthy to be loved and seen, i want someone to tell me that warriors do not come clean.

And in return for all the love i gave you, all you ever gave me was pain and heartbreak.

Woman have been warriors since the beginning of time, some of us fighting to even be born.

I’m sorry i can’t love in pieces, give me everything or nothing at all.

The moon is witness of all the nights I’ve spent waiting your return.

You say you don’t care but every time he gets hurt you feel the pain too.

A love so deep the ocean gets jealous.

I’d hate to die twice. It’s so boring.

Napoleon Bonaparte, on finding a dog beside the body of his dead master, licking his face and howling, on a moonlit field after a battle. Napoleon was haunted by this scene until his own death.

Divorce was emotionally traumatic for me. It was the death of a dream. I was in fairytale land, and the reality of it wasn’t so. But I don’t really like talking about it anymore, because it feels like a thousand lifetimes ago, and also it makes me look desperate like I need it for attention.

People who are too fastidious towards the finite never reach actuality, but linger in abstraction, and their light dies away.

It is the cause, not the death, that makes the martyr.

Alexander, Caesar, Charlemagne, and I have founded empires. But on what did we rest the creations of our genius? Upon force. Jesus Christ founded his empire upon love; and at this hour millions of men would die for him.

Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily.

Death has a tendency to encourage a depressing view of war.