“I found my words when I left you. Maybe the dark was worth the light.”

What I Thought was love, was really just lust-electrical chemistry, no emotional availability.

Hold my heart please, take this burden off me- the heavy hearts club.

You burned through my heart, leaving scars I thought was love. But when the smoke cleared all you left was charred destruction.

I have a heart of fire and you are afraid of getting burned.

My heart of flame could turn even your lead core into gold.

Why do I keep thinking, writing, dreaming of you? You don’t deserve to be my muse.

The longing for what should have been is what breaks my heart, over again.

I thought I had a second chance at loving you, but really it was just another lesson at letting go.

How incredible it is that everything led me to you.

My words, the ink, on this page they’re all for you.

I used to think my heart was made of glass the way it was so easy for you to shatter it.

You are allowed to feel the way you feel.

I’ve got a wandering heart that yearns for the people and places I haven’t met yet.

It took me a long time but I finally met people who made me stop craving you.

when the oceans heart breaks and the mermaid cries, her tears become sea glass-a gentle reminder that sometimes beautiful things come from pain.

It was only when I accepted the end of our story, Was i able to begin a new chapter with a better man.

To love or have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further. There is no other pearl to be found in the dark folds of life.

Raindrops blossom brilliantly in the rainbow, and change to flowers in the sod, but snow comes in full flower direct from the dark, frozen sky.

Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.

I find hope in the darkest of days, and focus in the brightest. I do not judge the universe.

See, the darkness is leaking from the cracks. I cannot contain it. I cannot contain my life.

We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.

The earth, in fair and grateful exchange, pays back to the moon an illumination similar to that which it receives from her throughout nearly all the darkest gloom of the night.

Optimism is the light at the end of a dark tunnel.