“Poetry is a silent revolution.”

Some break their hearts themselves to be healed of the wrong love.

Forever seems dreadful without a love to fill it with.

The dark silhouette of a forgotten rose in a forbidden garden of love; what kind of delicate fragrance of forgiveness it seems to tell my heart about.

We can not all love in the same way – for the feeling would be called ordinariness instead. And of that, the world has too much already.

Simple things are the most difficult ones; they enquire much more than one thought of ordinariness.

Solitude causes more wounds than it was ever meant to heal.

How a love ends should never define your next one.

Some choices are destined to be mistakes.

Sometimes scars run deeper than wounds ever did.

How simple tomorrow seems when there is nothing worth remembering (about yesterday).

A simple love can be deeper than any ocean.

If you truly love someone, you’ll never get tired of meeting his soul all over again for the first time.

We feel so much and remember so little.

Sometimes forever is kept in a heartbeat of a second.

No love defines us as much as the losses we have made in its name.

Changes are important they are like the rain who washes away dead flowers to make space for new ones.

Beneath every scar there lies a tragedy, that we try to heal through writing poetry.

Whatever is true of life let it not be true of love, love surely lives much longer in paintings and in poetry.

Poetry is the voice of the soul and the inspiration of the heart.

Our love is poetry oozing from our hearts spilling onto bedsheets and tearing us apart. Our love was always meant to be a journey through the cosmos for eternity.

His love held the scent of lavenders, as i carved them into poetry.

He is the story I cannot finish he is the poem I’ll always miss.

Maybe we become what we write about.

Isn’t this loneliness a strange poetry? you want everyone to read, but you are never willing to write it down.