“What I feel for you is at once the expression of language and the absence of it.”

It was a question I had worn on my lips for days – like a loose thread on my favourite sweater I couldn’t resist pulling – despite knowing it could all unravel around me. “Do you love me, I ask?” In your hesitation I found my answer.

I loved you more than love was allowed.

I still search for you in crowds, in empty fields and soaring clouds. In city lights and passing cars, on winding roads and wishing stars.

And I sighed and wept for what could not be–and for all that could have been.

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

What is she like? I was told – she is a melancholy soul.

Sometimes the loneliest place to be is in love.

Before the tears that tore us, when our history was before us.

I learned that writing is the consolation prize you are given when you don’t get the thing you want the most.

In her eyes, the sadness sings-of one who was destined, for better things.

When you lose a person, a whole universe goes along with them.

She can feel it down to her very core-this is her time. She will not only climb mountains-she will move them too.

He swept in like a tsunami, wave after wave, and I didn’t stand a chance. All those warnings, all the things they tried to prepare me for-lost in an instant-to the enormity of what I felt.

I wanted everything because I didn’t want anything enough.

The sad thing is, she said, the moment you start to miss someone, it means they’re already gone.

In a sea of strangers, you’ve longed to know me. Your life spent sailing to my shores.