“Here I am spitting up roses in your name I hope you choke on the thorns.”

Tell me about the flowers that bloom in your mind when the earth sits between you and the sun.

You are fragments of a dream I thought I had forgotten long ago.

Today was the day years ago it meant something then it can’t anymore.

We are so much more than the sum of parts colors staining us bruises of identity.

My heart cracks like an egg spilling the promises I thought I made.

Love and devotion are different words for a reason.

We dream of roses and grow like weeds.

My heart keeps room for you always even when you can’t be here.

Somehow you’d had your mermaids never smell like fish.

Spring into summer from pale green to emerald unfurling with grace.

You are all burning desires and questions with no answers.

Love was learning to read your vulnerability like a foreign language.

We don’t always have to see eye to eye when we are meeting soul to soul.

It is an act of courage every time you create. Stay brave.

We would look with scorn at witch mothers who build towers but not at princes who lust after caged women.

Somehow even in the dark, you can always turn to catch my kisses.

I can live neither with you, nor without you.

I have decorated your absence with every flower you hate. I end up hating em all.

I think perhaps I will always hold a candle for you – even until it burns my hand. And when the light has long since gone I will be there in the darkness holding what remains, quite simply because I cannot let go.

This heaviness is too much for one soul.

I didn’t love you to seek revenge. I didn’t love you out of loneliness or unhappiness. I didn’t love you for any of the misguided reasons that time might convince you I did. I just loved you because you’re you.

It’s times like this when it’s over a year later and I’m still crying over you that I want to turn to you and say: See – This is why I asked you never to kiss me.

My heart’s been empty since you left – but still I refuse to put up a vacancy sign. I’m just not ready for anybody else to move in yet.

It’s funny how we say a person ‘made’ us when they actually broke us. Sort of like how I say ‘funny’ – but I actually mean sad.