“You were consumed in running away from yourself, and I was just another way for you to get lost.”

Her thoughts are poetry, sheer beauty to behold, pay attention when she gives you a glimpse.

And every breath without you is torture, but at least I can finally breathe again.

And I’m bruised but never broken.

There is a story to tell in even the mundane, and beauty in the most unsuspecting.

And you have fast become my weakness, even as you remain my source of strength.

To be looked at and not found wanting – how beautiful to be enough.

My skin holds echoes of you; in every line, you used to trace and empty space you used to fill.

I accepted all of you – except for the vital part, that couldn’t accept all of me.

And when I lie broken with my face pressed to the earth – I will look to the cloudless sky, and reach out for it once more.

In the pause between your breaths and the space between your heartbeats, I think I heard forever.

This heaviness inside my bones tells me, I still carry the weight of loving you.

And all I wish is that your happiness would reach beneath the surface of your skin, grow deep roots, and bloom.

Tears like flame slide down my skin, they burn like the memory of you.

I constantly wonder if I’m enough, do you? Tell me I’m not alone in my insufficiency.

Broken wings may be grounded now, but they will taste freedom again.

Walls and brick have never felt like home, the way your gentle bones do.

She was lost in her longing to understand.

Nothing is lost, nothing is created, everything is transformed.

It’s okay to feel fucked up. It’s okay to feel lost. It’s okay not living unto others expectations.

I have not lost faith in God. I have moments of anger and protest. Sometimes I’ve been closer to him for that reason.

Memories are lifelines to the lives we’ve lost.

I’ve discovered that most critics themselves are cinematically illiterate. They don’t really know much about movies. They don’t know the history. They don’t know the technology. They don’t know anything. So for them to try to analyze it, they’re lost.

When I thought I lost everything, all I lost were old stories, the ones that didn’t belong within me anymore. Perhaps, it wasn’t that I lost anything, It’s that I was getting rid of what was no longer right for me.

How can we return the occupied territories? There is nobody to return them to.