“How is it that we mourn the shattered pieces of the love we willingly broke?”

You say we’re nonsense together, but nothing makes more sense to me.

We preserve their places in our hearts depending on the way they leave them.

I got used to temporary things. I’m afraid I might not want anything permanent at all.

I want to fold you into my book, like a petal, so that you’d never leave.

No matter how astray the becoming might be, I’ll never search for the old in me.

Perhaps their voices never leave us and we spend our lives fumbling for quiet corners where we can hear them most.

Lay your head on mine and let me breathe you instead of air.

Refrain from giving pieces of yourself to those who get close, for people leave, and gifts that are given cannot be returned.

I’ve experienced departure far too much to have the courage and call anyone my own.

You’ll roam the world and come to realize: It’s all in you, to be free or not to be.

We reshape our memories into uglier versions because it’s hard to forget them while they’re still beautiful.

This is face blindness, but not really it. Among all the faces I see, I could only see yours.

I’ve always had a fear of endings, but it comes as relief to me that among all the dying things, I am one too.

Where once there were a few houses between us, now there are seas.

I close my eyes and I see you. I open them, and I’m blind.

You float underneath my eyelids – a dream I never seem to get enough of.

They say diamonds are made under pressure, but what if I made of glass? and what if I’ll break?

All this time I have been masquerading as a soul complete.

If you knew the way you made my heart break and eyes tear, you would curse your existence .

She wore courage to cover her melancholy, Dear Heart, What is this tragedy?

And it scares me that if I ever get my wings, I might not know where to fly to.

I wonder how many heartaches must i conquer, to finally find a love that stays?

Maybe that’s why it was so easy for you to break me, you can always tear the pages of an open book.

Love is not meant to be perfect all the time. Sometimes it breaks you, other times it will make you feel all its tenderness.