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

My heart cracks like an egg spilling the promises I thought I made.

Love and devotion are different words for a reason.

We dream of roses and grow like weeds.

My heart keeps room for you always even when you can’t be here.

Somehow you’d had your mermaids never smell like fish.

Spring into summer from pale green to emerald unfurling with grace.

You are all burning desires and questions with no answers.

Love was learning to read your vulnerability like a foreign language.

We don’t always have to see eye to eye when we are meeting soul to soul.

It is an act of courage every time you create. Stay brave.

We would look with scorn at witch mothers who build towers but not at princes who lust after caged women.

Somehow even in the dark, you can always turn to catch my kisses.

Love is not a net to catch others with.

The loss of innocence is inevitable bitterness does not have to be.

I no longer know how to find myself under the weight of who I had to be.

In hard times stay soft.

In the cold I centre myself and my breathing to transfer all my heat into the centre of my body.

Sometimes when I think how good my book can be, I can hardly breathe.

I have to remind myself to breathe — almost to remind my heart to beat!

Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.

Deep breathing changes the chemistry of the body by bringing oxygen into the tissue.

And in this moment, like a swift intake of breath, the rain came.

Breathing exercises produce brain waves.

Some nights I wear nothing but the thought of you, and I am breathtaking.