“I can’t wait for the day to be wild again.”

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.

With each daydream she weaved her pastel heart into the sky.

Spring is poetry poured into nature.

I dreamed in skies of blue before september stole all the light.

She loves her lonely moments the silence away from the crowds, when its just her daydreaming.

Her afternoon tea is a fountain of daydreams.

Night time thoughts lead nowhere but into melancholy.

Lets breath magic into each other.

In a world of lost souls how could I ever find a home?

Summer left me like an almost lover.

If I make him my home, will I lose the home inside myself?

It is strange that the years teach us patience; that the shorter our time, the greater our capacity for waiting.

Patience with how your heart wanders, you will find your way.

Slow down, and inhale a little bit of peace.

Children and lunatics cut the Gordian knot which the poet spends his life patiently trying to untie.

You’ve never heard of an English lover. Only an English patient.

Life is a helluva thing. You can see trouble coming and you can’t do a damn thing to prevent it coming. You just got to sit and watch and wait.

The only reason that there has been no sabotage or espionage on the part of Japanese-Americans is that they are waiting for the right moment to strike.

And the process of reading is such a private one. I once came into a room where a friend of mine was reading one of my books, and he clicked his tongue impatiently and shooed me off.