“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.”

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.

All those questions that I was too afraid to ask? In the end I lay down cold welcoming the answers to tear me in half.

A hello from you can still bring me to my knees, set me free. More than any goodbye ever could.

Honesty, I don’t know how to love you less. Let alone not at all. I try my absolute best some days but this just makes me miss you more.

Its like you sat back and listened saw everything it would take you learnt how to hurt me perfectly and then could hardly wait.

I guess that’s the thing with forever you only get it once. So when you find yours in someone there’s not a thing you can do to forget and nobody else could ever come close.

They say what is lost can always be found in the last place you look but I wouldn’t be so sure that you’ll ever see this version of me again.

The more you push to get close to me, the more I’ll withdraw. You’ll never catch me. Not if I don’t want to be caught.

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

Maybe the way you seem to feel safe with your arms in mine means I’m not all broken maybe there’s something good inside.

Romeo and Juliet have nothing on this story, all the places we will go, or down in drumroll glory.

You love me some days I’m honestly sure of it. You think I haven’t noticed and I’ll pretend I didn’t. You love me somedays and that’s okay with me.

I fall headlong into everything that lights me on fire. I know not of restraint. I was born to burn.

Keep a little fire burning; however small, however hidden.

Love is a burning thing and it makes a firey ring.

At forty-five degrees, the sky will burn. Fire to approach the great new city; in an instant, a great scattered flame will leap up, when one will want to get evidence from the Normans.

She burned too bright for this world.

The fire and excitement may be gone now that we don’t go out there and sing them anymore, but the ring of fire still burns around you and I, keeping our love hotter than a pepper sprout.

I burned my own damn finger pokin’ someone else’s fire.

The blood of the just will be demanded of London, burnt by fire in the year ’66. The ancient Lady will fall from her high place, and many of the same sect will be killed.