“I either want a love like poetry or no love at all.”

The open road is the wanderer’s wonderland.

We were half a summer love but a forever kind of memory.

He was the hope that died with the last day of summer.

The open road is the wanderer’s wonderland.

It’s january, it’s cold and I search the sky for summer like I always do.

Silent lips speak the deepest truths.

Nights were made for broken hearts.

We always live for the summer until we don’t live it at all.

I lost and found myself in all your maybe’s.

I live in the imaginary wild and its soft as summer.

Sometimes getting lost is just the right direction.

Today, she decided to sparkle. And so she did.

I see the world in shades of you.

It takes effort to make it to forever.

There’s too much hurt in loving but too little life in not.

It’s not songs that remind me of lost lovers. It’s poems.

Love’s mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.

He that loves pleasure must for pleasure fall.

A love grown old is not the love once new.

You call me cruel after I finally chose to love myself fully before you.

The moment you were born, your presence was validated. You don’t need a second opinion.

The soul gives unity to what it looks at with love.

He loved chivalry, Truth and honor, freedom and courtesy.

I held my breath underwater and felt surrender in my lungs; maybe this too counts as love.