“I’ve lost count of my losses.”

I was raised to be more than enough for others but just not enough for myself.

I write from my heart, perhaps that’s why my words often bleed.

Fairytales are what you make of them.

I loved you with all my heart turns out a whole for some is barely apart.

The ‘kind’ in mankind. Show me that.

Nostalgia is a box of forget me nots.

In light of recent events can you tell me where to find the light?

Music is a different kind of intimacy. So is poetry.

I wonder if you’re thinking of me like I’m thinking of you.

Feelings you could never explain. That’s what poetry is.

Silence is a form of poetry.

The best way to be misunderstood is to care too much.

I’m tired of looking for love in people. I now get my fill from nature.

The loudest voices are often the ones that aren’t heard.

Nostalgia seems to haunt me these days I wonder if it’s old age or just a phase.

You feel like the moonlight, mysteriously dark its blinding.

What a loss they suffered, the day they left you.

Wishes are simply dreams we weren’t brave enough to chase after.

He lost interest. She lost hope. They lost the bond.

Some people are homeless not because they don’t have a roof over their head. but because they’re no more with the people they used to call their home.

Mostly it is a loss that teaches us about the worth of things.

It was happy while it lasted, but now it pains as you are holding the knife and twisting it- clockwise.

No love defines us as much as the losses we have made in its name.

The greatest hazard of all, losing one’s self, can occur very quietly in the world, as if it were nothing at all.