“The way the little doll smiles, blossomed infinite nourished and healed flowers in his soul.”

She was the freedom of his existence that rushed in like tsunami, that ignited his breaths into calm.

She was a recovered woman dipped in happiness, cleansed of darkness that would lit her aflame.

The white pure sheet of her life had thunderous and royal purple lavendar pride with a golden heart.

Moon and stars are what my dark sky has felt but with the story love of his existence.

Moon and stars are what my dark sky has felt but with the story love of his existence.

She is a woman that stands upright with her hand on her sword and pen that protects the innocent with her courage.

Her stressed soul had windows of crushing shards of wilting petals screaming for life.

Everyday she spoke to her souls filled with tranquility until it bloomed fragrant vibes.

It has taken her countless lessons to let go the thorns that scarred her brutally.

You aren’t a caterpillar but a steel sheilded butterfly so roam freely outside your cocoon.

She is a woman, bold and courageous and a goddess.

She is a woman with courage flowing in her veins that shield the loved ones with all her might.

She wraps her cleansed mirrored soul around the filthy dirty lungs to free them towards sanity.

She is the fertile earth that blooms rubies with her blood and honor.

She breathes with ease only when she knows that her core is special just like her existence.

She wished he was her essence but he wasn’t even worth to breathe the air she lived in.

Look up into His lovely face and as you behold Him,

My brother is the youngest member of the College of Physicians and Surgeons. And I wouldn’t let him cut my nails.

I love tennis with a passion. I challenged Boris Becker to a match once and he said he was up for it but he never called back. I bet I could make him run around.

His lips have confessed his love but her heart bleeds ice cold blood that doesn’t revive with the confession of life-giving moments, as she is someone who has surpassed the bonds of love.

Every essay – the subject matter of every essay – is ultimately about the essayist; him or herself. That ultimately, every essayist is writing about his or her view of the world.

Put him in a nice detached villa and he’d never have written a word.

No mention of God. They keep Him up their sleeves for as long as they can, vicars do. They know it puts people off.

He comes to play, prepares himself real well. We need him to play the way he does.