“I broke my own heart, hoping that you would find parts of me that you could love.”

Since you are gone, I collect the stars each night building my own night sky, so I have something to hold onto forever.

The fading blue of yesterdays sky is reminding me of the hopeless love I told the moon about you.

We should never allow that the scars on our heart change the way we love – no matter how deep they run.

The more I write about us, the more our love feels like art.

We break ourselves to fit better into all the wrong hearts.

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.

That Sunday afternoon when the rain poured down I was reminded of how important it is to break open every once and a while.

We break ourselves to fit better into all the wrong hearts.

Forever seems dreadful without a love to fill it with.

We are all broken things. But there’s so much beauty in those cracks. And so much strength in those places we’ve mended.

How a love ends should never define your next one.

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.

To set free my ideas while the world was still building a cage was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.