We fell in love because we were both summer souls.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNSummer was soaked with you.
More Marie-Kristin Hofmann Quotes
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We always live for the summer until we don’t live it at all.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
I feel blurry as a reflection in water.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
The open road is the wanderer’s wonderland.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
August died but summer lived on with your kiss.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
Night time thoughts lead nowhere but into melancholy.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
Don’t fall for someone who doesn’t have a spark of wild in their eyes.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
I see the world in shades of you.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
The open road is the wanderer’s wonderland.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
It’s January, it’s cold and I search the sky for summer like I always do.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
From her glass of red wine she takes a sip of the evening sun.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
She breathed love like air. She was Paris turned human.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
This wild heart beats restlessness.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
A lover should be two things at once: the wild and a home.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
I’m november numb and I think the world is, too.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
Spring is poetry poured into nature.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
We all need more solitude sundays.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
Lets breath magic into each other.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
I can’t wait for half a love because I’ve always needed more.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
I search for summer in every corner of september.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
I either want a love like poetry or no love at all.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
We are mind wanderers enchanted by the world inside our heads.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
We were half a summer love but a forever kind of memory.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
Kiss the words from my lips like a love poem.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
I dreamed in skies of blue before september stole all the light.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
Her afternoon tea is a fountain of daydreams.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN -
It’s not songs that remind me of lost lovers. It’s poems.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN