“Summer was felt a little more; in autumn I began to fall. When winter came with all its white, you were mine to kiss goodnight.”

I have always thought of memories as fragments, like colored glass shards in a kaleidoscope. It is the source of great beauty in our lives, yet the cause of such heartache. It remains the bridge between our past and present – it gives weight and dimension to our very existence.

I missed you today. Between waking and sleeping, I thought of you.

There are many things in life you can postpone, but love isn’t one of them.

I can’t believe how hard it is. The pain is indescribable. It’s like I’ve been turned into sandstone and my insides are being slowly hollowed out by a chisel and mallet.

In the wrong hands, your past is a weapon.

Let her be herself. Or she will be somebody else’s.

It should be my right to mourn someone who has yet to leave this world but no longer wants to be part of mine.

Every time I see my name, I hear it in your voice.

Give me something I can write about.

Because sooner or later, all kinds of love – crazy love, wild love- fade into the same thing. The love becomes old and predictable -safe.

She would fondly call him her Frankenstein, this man who was a patchwork of all the things she had ever longed for.

I know how hard it is to have to love someone in secret.

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.

There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!

I am a child of autumn: At home amongst things that only know of falling.

Autumn comes to the sea with a fresh blaze of phosphorescence, when every wave crest is aflame. Here and there the whole surface may glow with sheets of cold fire, while below schools of fish pour through the water like molten metal.

Autumn nights carry the most colourful dreams through the empty woods.

Let autumn be proof that change is a beautiful thing even tho it can be hard to see at first.

I am learning to let go like autumn. I am learning to grow like spring.

On bitter autumn nights your name lies at the tip of my tongue, as silent memories of us come to haunt me.

Our love was of the autumn- heady, golden and pure. But limited, always doomed to expire.