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

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.

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

And if you’ve forgotten, let me remind you. How love never really ends. How your heart breaks the same way it beats, again and again, and again.

It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness, I replied. To be heard after a lifetime of silence.

I know you were born with your heart already broken. But the world began in pieces and somehow made itself whole.

I saw love in your smile and I recognized it for the first time in my life. But you had a plane to catch and I was already home.

The only ones they can turn against you are those who were never with you.

I know love because I am in love. Because of how long I’ve loved. Because of the man I love.

The ache will always be there, but the intensity will fade, and you’ll find other beautiful things to fill your days with.

Who you love and who loves you back determines so much in your life.

Our love story comes to me in waves, in movie stills and long summer afternoons spent under a sky of incessant blue. I still think of your eyes in flashes of color, your hands in a frenetic, feverish blur-your smile a mosaic of light and shadow. I still find myself lost in those moments of abstraction.

Isn’t it strange how much of our lives are interchangeable, how little is truly ours.

Whatever path you choose will take you to the same destination. The only thing that should guide you is your intuition.

For me, that was the death of the word, or; because now, there is no other. It was the end of the word, and; for I love only you.

Brokenness is a beginning.

Broken before catching – a break.

To not be able to love the one you love is to have your life wrenched away.

Like a fractured bone in the ribs, the heart can be painfully heavy sometimes.

I guess you’re the bee and the stings all at once; By which I mean you’re the reason I wrap these tired bones around every aching thing.

Tear me open and I will bleed in your name. My heart aches from your absence, but in the aching and breaking is where my art is born.

Her heart was broken perhaps, but it was a small inexpensive organ of local manufacture. In a wider and grander way she felt things had been simplified.

He tells me he is broken and love isn’t for him. Someone please go tell him, heart break births the best of lovers.