“The only fire that was left in us, was the one I never lit up within myself.”

A good heart will always win.

Time is precious. So are the people in your life. So love and be loved. Because tomorrow is never promised.

You are more than just come overs to bend over, constant forgiveness, and second chances. You are not just a good time. You are more than being enough when it only suits them. Because you are more than just to be loved temporarily. When there are others who look at you as forever.

And I don’t know where we are going. But wherever it is, I want to go there together.

Shed the path with your smile, and lead the ones who choose to find the light in you.

And through all your phases you are still beautiful.

Time made us better, our communication was the root and evil couldn’t touch us, the light protected us.

As much as I read our story, I tried finding the conflict that our story had. I flipped the pages and ripped pages, looking for words that somehow kept our story going.

I guess that is why no one would ever forget you. Because you carried the weight of your pain along with others.

Your voice sends vibrations through my ears, as the frequency of each word that falls from your lips, tracing every bone of my spine, making me weak.

Love never failed you, people did.

The parts of me you are afraid of, are the parts that are ready to be loved by you.

The blessings feel different when there is love and peace in your heart.

I don’t want to live here, you frame memories I don’t want to remember, and gather your dust on memories I want hold on to.

We fail ourselves in many ways by hoping and praying for people to change, but little do we know the more rely on others, our growth delays.

Let them walk away. They will grasp for air, because of your absence, and because you were already ten steps ahead of them.

You love so perfectly, as if you have never been told a heart can be broken.

The cholera had broken out at the post, and five or six men were dying daily.

There is one thing I would break up over, and that is if she caught me with another woman. I won’t stand for that.

When I told you that I hadn’t been broken before; it wasn’t a fucking challenge.

Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him. Some night these thoughts, separated by miles and time zones, occur at the same objective moment, and Ray and Mirabelle are connected without ever knowing it.

I was fifteen years old when I understood how it is that things break down: people can’t imagine someone else’s point of view.

We were electric together, you and me; we turned hurting each other into a goddamned symphony.

When a bud breaks it becomes a flower, when a heart breaks it becomes divine.