“Sometimes my lion will try to roar back when I flee. But its my butterfly that keeps me silent when I leave.”

Bitter sweet rose her thorns pierce every bone, but her lustful petals fall like bandaids for bleeding sores.

A flower grows where it is planted but love grows everywhere.

Mountains speak in peaks and troughs. Just like life. And just like love.

I will always have a little bit of the wild in me. Always remembering what a good heart tastes like. Like love, that never ends. Like you.

Some days I wonder how I can become more then I think of you and I grow with love.

We choose our gardens based on what will bloom, and we wait out the seasons, until they do. And sometimes, love needs patience too.

Catch my fall as my wings ignite with love and the sky and I unite.

I’ve been that children, learning to walk. Somedays I’ve fallen, and some days I’ve crawled. But the steps, they grew. And so did my strength. And then I let go of your hand.

You are the book I keep closed, for some stories are not easy to read. But flowers bloom in between like the story is still alive.

The more I branch out, the less lonely I feel. I often wonder if trees are like that, too.

She teaches me I am boundless and free. She teaches me my past does not define me.

Love me later when the sun fades into the horizon and the distance between you and I melts away.

Maybe all these tears are leading me somewhere. Because when the sun meets rain, something beautiful emerges. And perhaps I am a rainbow in the making.

Words are weighted messengers that can break when they drop but a moments pause is the harness that keeps them from falling.

Where the heart feels torn is where the blood rushes most and that’s where all the roads meet.

Like a flower, that hides from the sun and discovers it still grows and blooms, I am learning that I too, can survive the dark, without you.

A deer that knows all the hunting techniques of a lion will never fall prey to a lion!

“We may talk what we please,” he cries in his enthusiasm for the oldest of the arts, “of lilies, and lions rampant, and spread eagles

If the lion knew his own strength, hard were it for any man to rule him.

It doesn’t matter whether you are a lion or a gazelle. When the sun comes up, you better be running.

The African lions rush to attack bulls; they do not attack butterflies.

Courage is poorly housed that dwells in numbers; the lion never counts the herd that are about him, nor weighs how many flocks he has to scatter.

And so the lion fell in love with the lamb.

Walk and talk with humility, but be fearless like a lion!