“I pressed the dress to my nose, and found what was left of your ghost. It was then that I remembered how to cry.”

I erected cities with adoration on my tongue and you burnt mine down in the wake of your love.

You could not keep me fed by throwing me bones and empty promises. I am ashamed to admit how much starving I did before I finally left.

Can hope bloom in the shade? Can time give back what it takes away? I once saw the answers to life in your eyes; now I can remember the words to goodbye.

In the absence of you I look to the moon and pray that the stars light my way, too.

If we are what we love, Then I am whatever you are made of.

I fall headlong into everything that lights me on fire. I know not of restraint. I was born to burn.

Anxiety is living with an apple on your head and you imagine that everyone you know stands watching with a bow to shoot an arrow at it.

The stars are where we came from. They orchestrated our return to the place we can always come home: our ancient, timeless love.

You are what it feels like to watch the final silvers of sun fall and die into the silver ocean; tangerine sky giving way to moon-glow and starlight.

We weren’t written in the stars; all that glitters wasn’t ours.

Last night, I sent you home with a kiss and a promise. I hope you still believe in roses.

Our story bleeds from my eyes until I cannot tell the stars from streetlights.

Standing in your power scares a lot of people. You become something formidable, intimating, and aspirational all at once.

Poetry? That’s easy. I just cut the vein, and let it bleed.

Do I look as good as I remember, Looking back at you from over my shoulder, smug as the devil?

The day I made peace with my pain was the day I was born again.

Don’t wear fur! Did you know, a single fur coat takes fifteen trees, just for the protest signs?

I mean, it is the perfect situation to really love someone to death and to want to rip their clothes off at the same time, isn’t it?

I’m still a student of fashion, but I like hooking up with the people that really know how to make cool clothes.

No one dressed by me ever looks like an idiot.

I’ve worked in construction, in a factory sewing clothes. I also sold flowers and doughnuts – just odd jobs to try to make 10 pesos, which is equivalent to 20 cents.

A man should dress in a way that you don’t notice. He looks good and you don’t know why. But it’s the tailoring, the materials, and the clothes.

I love cars and I love clothes, but I don’t really be going too crazy.

Laws should be like clothes. They should be made to fit the people they are meant to serve.