“Branches bow, longing to reach the crisp, punctured leaves, their old shedded skin.”

We suffered. We worried. We lost. We wept. But loved, and laughed, and cared, and helped.

You proved to me that I can lose something I never even had in the first place.

I hope the world never steals us from ourselves.

Everything turns out okay in the end, so what is the point in worrying?

Don’t act strong when everything wrong, when everything hurts and your energy’s gone.

There’s more to life than this. There’s more to life than this. Although it doesn’t seem like it, there’s more to life than this.

And I must learn every language to find a word that describes your beauty.

Enough of this. The next one I love will return my passion.

These thoughts will kill me if I don’t express them.

Your sorrowful beauty can soften a stone, and dampen the eyes of a god.

Look beyond their words. A whole world lies in what people never say.

The only thing that scares me more than standing out is not standing out at all.

Find your home. You’ll know it instantly; it will be the place you never wish to flee from.

Just be a lily, blooming in the dying waste of a choking world.

How do you use so many words to say nothing at all?

One day, you’ll leave. And my heart will close like a weeping ipomoea never to open again.

To the great tree-loving fraternity we belong. We love trees with universal and unfeigned love, and all things that do grow under them or around them – the whole leaf and root tribe.

When one thing changes, it all changes. And now sitting in a pile of fallen dominoes I feel like me.

When the leaves begin to fall, I find myself returning to old playlists in hopes that I can feel you holding my hand, or kissing me goodnight, or hear you singing my name into songs and blueing when it makes no sense.

Like the leaves and trees beyond repair we let go, But don’t forget love.

And just like the leaves in the fall, she fell, too. And it changed her. And it was wonderful.

The wolf howled under the leaves And spit out the prettiest feathers Of his meal of fowl: Like him I consume myself.

April’s air stirs in Willow-leaves, a butterfly Floats and balances.

Autumn sheds the leaves like tear drops.