“I guess we all understand the love language fine; but maybe truth is we’re just too fluent in goodbyes.”

There’s not much I know about forgetting. By which I mean I can hear her name from a distance; and it still breathes cold in my chest.

Respect pain. Every heartfelt word is first born from sadness.

I’m a drunk poet; and I guess maybe I sipped too much of what I couldn’t buy of her.

I held my breath underwater and felt surrender in my lungs; maybe this too counts as love.

And when the cold comes, I swear I can feel her in my bones.

Today I can see the cracks on the wall they’re visible; but I can tell they are finding their way to soil, And so am I.

Maybe water is not entirely lost when soaked into sand. Maybe it finds a better resting place to call home; and I hope she did too.

All through the depression, I was the soft toy in the hands of a baby with sharp teeth.

After healing I’ll run back to her – of course this poem demands a brutal ending!

It is my dying wish to travel around the world; to feel this hurt in a slightly different way!

Sometimes even in pain we smile to the world until we think we’re dying.

The broken worlds we hide inside; that’s how we start to die!

Most days missing her is my only choice between death and dying.

Often times the language is different; by which I mean, I love her, and it’s the only stammer I’ve ever known.

I’ve seen it, I know it too; love still dances in the fire after the rescue.

I forget how our story started; but these days I’m finding the missing pieces behind every exhale, where I left the words standing with sore feet.

Tell my wife I played the game straight out and to the end. No woman shall be left aboard this ship because Ben Guggenheim is a coward.

I think cinema all over the world was influenced by it, which was Italy finding its freedom at the end of fascism, the end of the Nazi invasion. It was a kind of incredible energy. Then, late ’50s, early ’60s, the neo-realism lost its great energy and became comedy.

At the end of the day, I want to spend time with my daughter, and this schedule enables me to do that while still having fun hosting ‘106 Park.’ I’m not really eager to get back into music just yet; I’m really eager to get into another movie before I put out an album.

In the end, I worry that my arrogance shall destroy us all.

The current state of the earth, thus, constitutes the as yet most diverse final result, which of course represents not a real but only a momentary end-point.

Trust me when I say you will come out changed and stronger on the other end of this.

You are asking yourself, as all of us must: ‘Who am I?’ . . . ‘Where am I?’ . . . ‘Whence do I go?’ The process of enlightenment is usually slow. But, in the end, our seeking always brings a finding. These great mysteries are, after all, enshrined in complete simplicity.

When something that can never quite be reenacted comes to an end (and all moments are that way),