“And I don’t know if it’s his lips or his fingers that make thousands of roses bloom on my skin.”

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?

Because I always ruin everything. Maybe it’s better if I let you go.

If you try every day, then, you’re much stronger than you think.

And she started flying, just like the beautiful butterfly she is.

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

My choices are like my fingerprints, they make me unique.

Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight; With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.

In many parts of the world, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman. But I think we need women to solve the problems that men create.

Someone asked me what home was and all I could think of were the stars on the tip of your tongue, the flowers sprouting from your mouth, the roots entwined in the gaps between your fingers, the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage.

Someone asked me what home was and all I could think of were the stars on the tip of your tongue, the flowers sprouting from your mouth, the roots entwined in the gaps between your fingers, the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage.

Someone asked me what home was and all I could think of were the stars on the tip of your tongue, the flowers sprouting from your mouth, the roots entwined in the gaps between your fingers, the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage.

Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open and it stays. Clutch it and it darts away.

Like a compass needle that points north, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman. Always.