“He is a friend. A different kind of lover.”

Silence is a form of poetry.

The best way to be misunderstood is to care too much.

I’m tired of looking for love in people. I now get my fill from nature.

The loudest voices are often the ones that aren’t heard.

Nostalgia seems to haunt me these days I wonder if it’s old age or just a phase.

You feel like the moonlight, mysteriously dark its blinding.

Poetry, music, and silence.

I’ve chased after sunsets too many times to know how precious time is.

You complete me.

Do not tell me how to feel just because you can’t understand.

Sometimes I get my youth confused with age.

Give me love and I’ll show you unconditional.

I miss you even in my dreams.

Love, if true, stays when all else is gone.

Regret is a time travel in a world where time only moves forward.

Can I write you into existence?