“I’m not looking at my phone. I’m looking for you.”

Let’s make the world wait while we write poetry and talk about love.

How perfectly you love my imperfection.

Give me an old bookshop, rain, and memories of you.

We’re just friends. It’s as complicated as that.

We were supposed to be, even if we can’t be.

You will always be my favorite story to tell.

Every letter of every poem is one more moment with you.

Because a broken heart still beats.

Have you heard the rumors about us? I kind of love them.

You introduced me to secrets.

What a magical spell those stars cast, making us believe we were written for them.

I have nothing to say and I can’t help but think that says a lot.

I prefer daydreams to those at night. It’s more fun to use my hands.

Sure, we could have kept going, but the chance of finding a gas station was zero.

You were all I ever wanted and nothing I could have.

Every day we don’t speak is one day closer to the day we will.

That desert of loneliness and recrimination that men call love.

Joy may you have and gentle hearts content Of your loves couplement: And let faire Venus, that is Queene of love, With her heart-quelling Sonne upon you smile

I love books and going to bookstores. My favorite sound is the sound of the needle hitting the record.

I never told my love vocally still.

I had never known her before and I had never loved her so much. The more we know the more we love, I thought.

It seems to me that true love is a discipline.

I just love music. I think it’s art.

I fell in love with the way you wanted more.