“And all these strange birds in the morning sky feel more familiar than home.”

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.

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.