“I’ll never ask you to be anything other than exactly you.”

Oh what we could be if we stopped carrying the remains of who we were.

Illusions must be out to death. That is the cruelty of growing up.

I Remember It, Precisely And Perfectly, The Birth Of This Love.

I do not know if I will ever be complete, but I know whatever I am, You will always be the rest of me.

I love you, in ways you’ve never been loved, for reasons you’ve never been told, for longer than you think you deserved and with more than you will ever know existed inside me.

If I died tonight I think I would like to come back as your morning coffee. Just as strong and just as necessary.

Press your ear to my chest and listen where a heartbeat should sing you will hear the melancholy songs of tired whales.

Do broken pianos play broken songs? Do they have busted melodies for busted hearts? Is there a song living inside it that’s waiting to get out? Her keys are shattered and her notes long since silent but I can still hear her song. Just listen, just listen.

To live an honest, simple life, filled with creativity, joy, compassion, and a deeper, richer appreciation for the world around us.

I would imagine there are days when Superman wakes up, glances at his cape, and wonders when someone will come save him.

We carry in us all we could ever possibly need.

Be gentle, always delicate with every soul you meet, for every single morning you wake up, there is someone Wishing, silently and secretly, that they had not.

You have never had to steal my breath, or take it away, somehow you have always managed to convince me to hand it over freely.

Promise me you will not spend so much time treading water and trying to keep your head above the waves that you forget, truly forget, how much you have always loved to swim.

I have blisters on my feet from dancing alone with your ghost.

I am made from the creaking beams and rusted nails of a lonely vessel on a lonely sea. I am covered and coated, dusted with old salt water and the frail residue of moonlight.