“She is someone who falls in love with imperfections. Like the moon with all her craters, hearts with cracks, and souls with scars. For she knows they carry the deepest and truest love of all deep inside.”

Healing is like dealing with the moods of the moon. Somedays you feel the pain at its fullest and you don’t know how to make it through it, and other days it feels a little bit more bearable.

I was not always strong. But I was always brave. And to be brave is strong enough.

She was poetry for a man who wasn’t able to feel her words.

Poetry has its own language which can only be understood, when you read it with your heart and feel it within your soul.

I knew it was real love the moment I could bare myself to you naked (without taking my clothes off) and I could show you all my scars (the ones that are invisible to the naked eye) and you loved me even more.

You will find poems hidden on my whole body, Which I would never be able to put into words and write them out.

whenever I look at you my thoughts are full of sensual poetry. But would I write about my feelings for you, my pen would begin to glow and my paper would immediately catch fire.

I never valued the meaning of words that much, Until I realized how healing they are.

I turned my scars into wisdom, and my past into lessons learnt.

I can feel you in every part of my body. I do not know how you do it, that you still linger deep inside of my veins bones DNA without even being beside me. But you do and I love that.

When you stumble and fall on your knees, it does not mean you are weak. The only important is your braveness while you stand up again and face it.

Never hold her back from the things she does, with passion in her heart and love in her soul.

LISTEN and SILENT have the same letters. It means, when someone is SILENT then LISTEN, for silence speaks volumes.

If she lets you be a part of her life, you have to understand that she thinks you know how to deal with hurricanes.

In the nights when our souls melt together into one, even the moon blushes.

Pain shapes us into writers, it cuts our veins open like a sharp knife. But while we are about to bleed dry, we turn our blood into ink.

I feel like a person living on the brink of a volcano crater.