“To hurt is simply an act of remembering. Of holding my skin to the edge in the hope I might feel anything at all.”

Maybe letting go isn’t all that different to loving you.

I swear my bones can feel it whenever you speak my name.

What a gentle curse: to still want you after all we’ve been.

She spoke with so much hope, the future dancing on her lips like a flame.

Her smile is an open flame and I have a paper heart.

It was always you who felt like water when my whole body was a flame.

Just because the pain is comfortable doesn’t mean you have to wear it.

Some days survival is all the living I can do.

There’s a weight to it, this missing you.

Her heart is heavy and ruined with hope.

Maybe I hold onto pain because I don’t know who I am without it.

I cannot lose you quietly. It will take blood and bone to pull you from my chest.

Even heartbreak can find a way to feel like home.

We built futures I’ll never get to visit. But I still have to watch them crumble.

I surround myself with trees in the hope I might become a  growing thing, too.

I have no idea how I made it this far without you.

I want to go, look for my essence, know myself and change myself; because nobody is constant.

Time is all we have and don’t.

My flowers rot beneath my bed. I was too selfish to part with them. I hope their deaths don’t bring hexes. Did I say flowers? I meant my exes.

He says your poems whisper too loudly of ugly truths. He forgets he authors the endings.

Sometimes it’s the ones that seem to love themselves the most, that actually love themselves the least.

She was afraid of heights but she was much more afraid of never flying.

Sometimes it’s as if we’re an overflowed tank. As if we are holding more than what can really fit inside us.

We lost sanity in vanity chaos breeds insanity.