“Like flowers, I hope, My love makes you bloom.”

You can walk in and out. I have built no doors.

The flowers you don’t water, will never bloom.

And sometimes they leave not because they didn’t love enough. But maybe because love isn’t everything.

Clean your slate. Empty your cup. Let every moment. Fill you up.

He said he cannot read in between the lines. And I have poured all my heart there.

If I am to be only a passing season in your life, I hope I be spring.

Let me be like the leaves on the trees. Let me sway with the gentlest breeze.

If trees looked at fallen leaves and gave up, we would have no forests.

Not all love lives forever. But is it not love still? The maybe and the almost. And the love that never will.

I have loved you and missed you all for so long. That even this feeling feels like home.

You’re the kind of song, I want to hear on repeat. For a lifetime.

Like the endless stars in the skies. I love you, more than you know. And I miss you, more than I am allowed.

Maybe when I pour my words on paper. Maybe it’ll feel like how it might feel wrapping you in my arms.

When you love, I hope you don’t sail. I hope you drown.

Be your own flower. And bloom.

Just because you’re leaving, doesn’t mean I’m letting go.

The flowers you don’t water, will never bloom.

Be your own flower. And bloom.

When the flower blooms, the bees come uninvited.

Glamour: the indefinable something about a girl with a big bosom.

In a dream, my fingertips pulse. I’ll be patient in my blooming. In a dream, I let time pass through open hands.

Beware of prejudice; light is good in whatsoever lamp it is burning; a rose is beautiful in whatever garden it may bloom.

When the silence fades and now sounds begin to bloom, I will grow to feel calm again. Healthily this time.

I wanted our flower to bloom, even through the lightening storm.