“I’m a stranger in my own life.”

The second I tried to tell myself I wasn’t in love was the moment I realized I was.

If a boy ever says, you remind me of someone–don’t fall in love with him. You will never be anything more than second best.

A book travels for days, for years, sometimes for centuries to meet you at an exact point in time.

There are things I miss that I shouldn’t, and things I don’t that I should. Sometimes we want what we couldn’t, sometimes we love what we could.

One day you meet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else.

I love you, I do – you have my word. You have all my words.

You know, missing someone can sometimes be the best thing for a writer.

Do you remember the song that was playing the night we met? No, but I remember every song I have heard since you left.

Before I fell in live with words, with setting skies and singing birds – it was you I fell in love with first.

Your first love isn’t the first person you give your heart to- it’s the first one who breaks it.

Strange how it mattered so much, when now it matters so little.

Like time suspended, a wound unmended – you and I. We had no ending, no said goodbye; For all my life, I’ll wonder why.

I was there in your forgetting, until I was forgot.

For she is his poet, and he is her poetry.

She was the book that was not written. The sentence that was not scripted. She was the word you wished you could have said.

Knowing sleep will set it right – if you were not to wake.