“Maybe one day you’ll see, you’ll see what I saw.”

He is the danger and my soul loves it.

And maybe to love each other too much we destroy ourselves.

And just like that, he told me that I was beautiful. Without knowing all the wars I wage against myself.

It’s okay. Because in the end, I know why I did this.  For love, for love, and only for love.

Just because you haven’t seen how wonderful, beautiful, and special she is, doesn’t mean no one else will.

And just like that, he took my hands, looked me in the eyes, and told me that I was all he ever dreamed of. What he’s always been waiting for.

You don’t realize how magical a moment is until it becomes a memory.

And if you saw me alone in a bar tonight. Would you ask me to dance?

We have each other, we make love and then we hate each other and we become strangers.

Are we still in the same world? Then why do I feel so far away from you? As if our two worlds were separated.

I love the way he loves me when I can’t love myself.

Don’t you see? That I kiss you a little harder. That I hug you a little harder. I want you to heal me.

Waiting a lifetime to touch your lips again wouldn’t be too long.

Touch me. Make my body bloom. A million cherry blossoms.

Because, in the end, it was just promises.

And how can you be so bad for me when I feel like I’m flying?

He that hath light within their own breast, may sit in the centre and enjoy bright day.

Never a day passes but that I do myself the honor to commune with some of nature’s varied forms.

Full little knowest thou that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide: To loose good dayes, that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow.

Though leaves are many, the root is one; Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun Now I may wither into the truth.

Nowhere else than upon the sea do the days, weeks, and months fall away quicker into the past. They seem to be left astern as easily as the light air-bubbles in the swirls of the ship’s wake.

The childhood shows the man, as morning shows the day.

So passeth, in the passing of a day, Of mortal life the leaf, the bud, the flower.

Live every day as your last, because one of these days, it will be.