“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.”

There is more light than darkness, there has always been.

Photos I’m not in and memories we don’t share, haunt my lonely eyes.

I will never, ever believe in the words “too late” because it is never too late to be exactly who you wish, do exactly what you should, say exactly what needs to be heard, and live the exact life you should be living.

I care not about lost firsts, but I will fight, knuckles bloody and teeth sharpened, for your lasts.

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.

Didn’t have Nintendo, we just poured salt on snails.

A woman without paint is like food without salt.

The mother says to her daughter: The heart is an island. To reach it, You must cross salt water. This is what the daughter fears: That joy, like sorrow, Must be reached by shipwreck, Tossed on the flotsam of tears.

I was last in Rome in AD 540 when it was full of Goths and their heavy horses. It has changed a great deal since then.

Now the great winds shoreward blow Now the salt tides seaward flow Now the wild white horses play Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.

I give forgiveness like salt and pepper in a restaurant – Turn my world upside down and it’ll pour out of me, flowing freely, until I’m empty.

In the end the salt calls the ocean home; and I guess this is why drowning has always been a part of loving you.

Salt is white and pure – there is something holy in salt.