“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.”

I have happened in so many places, to so many people – the essence of me lives on in these nuances, these moments.

How many people have we known all our lives and never once loved. How many people have we loved and never known.

We all have moments of darkness, moments when we are so unlike ourselves. And like vultures they wait for a slip, a misstep, then they take that part of us and try to convince the world that is all we are.

I have buried myself so deep in my words that sometimes I can’t tell if I am the person writing or the one hiding between the lines.

Why do you write? he asked. So I can take my love for you and give it to the world, I reply. Because you won’t take it from me.

I don’t think about myself as much as I used to. I guess that’s a good thing. I only think about the things that are missing from me.

Fear isn’t a reason when it comes to love–it’s an excuse. Anyone who has ever been in love will tell you that.

I was loved in my dreams last night. It echoed through me like thunder-I felt it through and through.

Some days I feel like my soul is being pulled in one direction and my heart in another.

I want you to be happy. I want someone else to know the warmth of your smile, to feel the way I did when I was in your presence.

The words I heard from you today, are said when there’s nothing left to say. What I would give to make you stay, I would give it all away.

You can’t borrow from the future, to make up for the past.

Because someday, in one way or another, you will be taken from me or I you.

People who are prone to sadness are more likely to pick up a pen.

The greatest heartache comes from loving another soul, they said, beyond reason, beyond doubt, with no hope of salvation.

How much love is a person capable of giving? I thought I knew the answer until I met you.