“Put the memories away keep them safe especially the good (they cause the most pain)”

I’m holding on so tightly to the promise that if nothing lasts forever, someday, this sadness will end too.

Tell me, please how I’m ever meant to forget these exact words that you said – “you have my heart you stole it and I’m fine with that”

And didn’t I used to say “live fast, die young” right up until it was your last day too soon, with me under the sun.

And as I gave up the fight to leave the forever in my heart behind, I made friends within the hellfire beast that will always burn a little too close whilst you remain out of reach.

I lost so much of myself, when I lost them both. I learnt how to be strong on my own and for everyone else.

Lately, none of what seems to matter when I’m holding you and maybe, baby, we’re getting better.

And you, you’ll always be the most brilliant mystery a masterpiece of october midnight hauntings my best dressed trauma at the evening masquerade.

What an absolute waste land loving you has become. Such a shame, to let it be any less.

Words lit low on kerosene pages, familiar comforts like asphyxiation.

Bad habits could’ve led me down so many worse paths than back to you.

Life won’t wait but you and I? we’re gonna live forever.

Thankyou for showing me not everything with love will leave.

Tomorrow will be the reminder that its all just a blur of oasis and vodka.

There’s a sincerely bittersweet truth in the way neither of us deserve me loving you.

Maybe the most perfect words I’ve ever heard, beauty and sadness, are these three. Not, I love you. But, Let it be.

There’s a destitute side, a breakdown in me. My subversive pursuit to finally be free.

Nothing is ever too good to be true.

If you do good in secret, Allah will shower His good on you in public.

Be thou good thyself, and let people speak evil of thee; it is better than to be wicked, and that they should consider thee as good.

It’s just unreal, I’m shocked myself. I’ve played good matches here, but never really almost destroyed somebody.

Whose souls, albeit in a cloudy memory, yet seek back their good, but, like drunk men, know not the road home.

The good is the end toward which all things tend.

You know what I always say about basketball whenever anybody tried to tell me the Knicks are gonna be good: They’re old. Old people don’t get healthy. They die.

It is easy to love perfection. The difficulty consists in loving the human with his good and bad. We mostly know as much as we love. Only loving God but not its creatures, you can never really know, neither really love.