“You are worthy of feeling incredibly and unapologetically alive.”

You will be the ocean. Strong enough to tighten the sails and safe enough to jump ship for.

Your voice causes a power surge that courses through the veins, feeds off bones, minors in replay.

I haven’t wept for days, only shuffling feet, carrying weights, ignoring the pain, numbing the face. Its all a charade.

I waited, quietly listened, cupped my ear to your mouth, but silence echoed grievously in the absence of sound. It was only warm breath and then emptiness.

I’m from a state that houses too many cornfields and a town that no one takes seriously- in a home where glass cuts hurt less than deeply wounded words.

Your words once a melody, now read like an obituary.

I’m used to falling, calling out timber right before the impact.

I’ve been afraid to look at the woman in the mirror. Everyday she looks less and less like me. It makes me wonder if I’ll ever find my way back home.

If I had a wishing well, I’d wish you well. That the skies hold the key to all you’ve ever wanted, with or without me.

It wasn’t enough fading under surfaces, below waves, swollen pufferfish retracting this inflated love that not even you could believe in.

I hide behind olive branches. So afraid of others knowing what lay beneath the broken rifle. The reality hitting the pavement like bullets that stem from war.

The moon may bring peace, but the sun, she offers resilience.

And when I walk alone, I speak in deaf tones. I’m screaming and no one knows, no one knows. No one pays attention to where the sound goes.

Remember me in burnt coffee mornings, warm hugs, fresh sunday snow. Know that you loved me too cautiously.

The autumn breeze carves out an ache in your memory.

Caution! This vehicle stops quite frequently when overwhelmed.

A true teacher is one who, keeping the past alive, is also able to understand the present.

The simple truth is, the more we care about others, the more alive and engaged we’re going to feel.

High heels off; I’m feeling alive.

Night, when words fade and things come alive.

When you die, it will not be because you are sick, but because you were alive.

The purest form of joy comes to us in ordinary moments, and those moments can happen any place where gratitude is alive. ⁣

No one really knows why they are alive until they know what they’d die for.

Leisure without books is death, and burial of a man alive.