“We may be just two different clocks, that do not tock in unison.”

That’s the thing about writers – on one hand everything is sacred to them, but, on the other, nothing really is.

To love is a dare, when hope and despair, are gates upon it hinges.

You won’t hear from me again after today, and I don’t want you to worry. I’ll be okay. Because I have to be.

Here and now I love you, for the moment you have my heart. But you are entitled to my future, you have no ownership of my past.

But tomorrow, tomorrow could be different, and that is what keeps me going today.

Here’s to those who wish us well, and the rest can go to hell!

We all need to follow our intuition, even if it takes us down the wrong path. Otherwise, you’ll always be second-guessing yourself.

Of all you’ve used against me, the worst has been my words.

The distance from you is measured in how far I’ve come.

Anything and everything, the two almost the same–everything says, have it all; anything, one to claim.

There is a certain quality to words that when strung in a certain way-has an almost hypnotic effect.

Our emotions pull us in different directions. The stronger the emotion, the greater the pull. Feelings are not always practical, nor do they make any logical sense. That’s just the way it goes.

When was the last time you felt like someone knew you and not the person you’ve been pretending to be. When was the last time you felt like yourself.

Now that you have it all, do you ever wish you could go back to when you had it simple?

The memory of you is fading, a little at a time, and I can feel myself forgetting.

I wish I could put a pen in your hand and gently remind you how the world has given you poetry and now you must give it back.