“Misery doesn’t love just any company it desires the kind presence only loneliness feeds but that’s not love at all. – love doesn’t eat it bleeds.”

The pain of inevitable loss should never outweigh the privilege of love.

Dear swimmer, saltwater’s not for sinking it’s supposed to help you float. – float.

I’ll write my secrets in the sand next to driftwood and seashells then let the waves wash them away. Wishing forgetting was that easy. – secrets in the sand.

We make time for the things that matter most to us – I guess I didn’t matter much to myself.

We listen less often because the sound of silence is deafening to us.

I’m in a constant state of finding myself then losing her all over agin. – the cycle.

If you stay long enough I’ll turn you into poetry. – please stay.

Silence is a death sentence when your voice can save a life.

Life really falls like gentle rain in june instead it tries to drown us by a sudden monsoon.

I wonder how different the world would be if we all said what we meant and meant what we said? – speak up.

The lord does not wade in shallow waters.

I know your story is hard to tell without choking up or caving in but the world could learn a lesson or two from the one who weathered silent storms. – silent storms.

A bleeding heart takes longer to catch up with the rationale of a busy mind. – emotions aren’t linear.

You can’t blame her for drifting away when you never asked her ship to stay. – abandonment ship.

I like my name better when its tied to yours.

As ocean waves never cease to pursue the shoreline and the sun gives his blessing over their daily union. I’m reminded of steadfast love persistent on pursuing each other. – stead fast love.

The heart has no tears to give,–it drops only blood, bleeding itself away in silence.

Shame bleeds through generation to generation. That is not the legacy I wish for you.

Do you love your idea? Does it feel right on instinct? Are you willing to bleed for it?

Misery doesn’t love just any company it desires the kind presence only loneliness feeds but that’s not love at all. – love doesn’t eat it bleeds.

I woke up with the warrior in my blood.

It’s in my genes. My mother was an opera singer. I’m clearly dramatic.

Negro blood is sure powerful, because just one drop of black blood makes a colored man. One drop–you are a Negro! . . . Black is powerful.

I am quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away but with blood. I had, as I now think vainly, flattered myself that without very much bloodshed it might be done.