“This spring along with flowers, I hope you bloom as my love has, one season too soon.”

I warned you not to play with matches but you said you loved the heat. Darling, the inferno warms you but it spreads like wildfire. Now, we’re both in ruins.

Even though he is not mine I wish him a heart fully made & even though, to my love he is blind for him my love will never fade.

Tease me over & again, moon over my night a meteor-like allure strike through my heart.

Stay with me in this inferno and together we’ll watch the world burn.

If this should end in fire come, fill this desire.

It is not the world I fear but what becomes of me; when you disappear so understand it is you I cannot sacrifice with you in my life-I’ll suffice.

If you are a painter my love, then I will be your writer.

Tell me about the city you grew up in, how you like to take your tea let me see the world through your eyes; be the muse to my literacy.

In the cold you left me, that is how my love for you came to be.

You shall have all that is in this garden.

I loved you as Icarus loved the sun, too close, too much.

I want a love that meets me half way. A love filled with chivalry as if it were written in old days.

Who am I to write about love when I don’t know the very definition of it, It seems, love itself does not favor me.

In each passing day, I hope I love you less but somehow this love stays and my heart is yours nonetheless.

If I can have what I want then I’d have the stars the moon, the skies and a love where it shines through your eyes.

For the rest of my life I will stay by his side. A union this world could never divide.

The lotus grows out of the mud. Love the lotus; do not love the mud.

You bloom one day, you do not on another. This is life and every flower doesn’t require the same amount of sunshine.

Isn’t it a lovely thing watching flowers greet the wind as if a gentle kiss is all they need to dance.

Nothing in the whole world is of interest to me but my painting and my flowers.

The world is conditioned to admire flowers. Keep watering your roots.

A profusion of fancies and quotations is out of place in a love-letter. True feeling is always direct, and never deviates into by-ways to cull flowers of rhetoric.

Pain made me grow in the most unexpected places. And now I know what it feels like to be a wildflower.

Never again will I hand deliver my heart to a man holding flowers when the thorns cut me deeper than the flowers ever made me happy.