“There is magic in the minuscule.”

The contradiction of my lips so cold outside so warm within.

I am never going to stop trying to translate meaning from mundane.

I will bring you all of my dead flowers if you will breathe me a promise of spring.

Don’t talk to me like I am a lost little girl I am a wolf and these are my woods.

No matter the storm you are still standing to guide me home.

I am an expert at breaking my own heart.

The sun and moon are both awake, flirting from across the sky.

Without question, you have been the greatest adventure of my life.

There is no point in uprooting yourself to prove to others you can bloom.

The only thing that fills the void is pulling things out of it.

If it is love it is always enough love is a quality, not a quantity.

Home is where you feel.

I send you videos of birds you keep pointing out my wings.

Here I am spitting up roses in your name I hope you choke on the thorns.

Some of my favorite things are moments you have given me.

You spent years planting red flags convincing me they were roses.

What you call magic is nothing more than an act of the imagination fired by the senses, then given shape by the power of your aura.

There’s just some magic in truth and honesty and openness.

She’s mad, but she’s magic. There’s no lie in her fire.

I definitely walked into more than one mirror.

Painting isn’t an aesthetic operation; it’s a form of magic designed as mediator between this strange hostile world and us.

I think that all women are witches, in the sense that a witch is a magical being.

Science has its own magic: the magic of reality.

Impossibilities will start to happen for all of us, like magic.