“Too much of what I write takes me back to you.”

All this sadness longs to be touched.

I want to know the 2 am you because my love we all are different when we are at war under the sun.

A love that stays will always remain secondary to the one that left, but isn’t it a shame to worship that which left in place off that which stayed.

But the act of holding on speaks to me so much more about a human heart than the courage of letting go ever could.

These poets and their metaphors lied to me/ you never felt like a mountain I wished to climb/ or a stream I would let myself float in/ or a scent I was dying to bottle in/ these poets lie when they talk of love.

Growing flowers on your tongue/ won’t make those lies/ any sweet/ saying that you still/ love me/ won’t make this/ broken trust/ change how it feels.

For once I wanna look back and not sigh.

All my life has been a struggle to know, what to hold on and what to let go, but still, i end up sitting in the corner of the room with a flickering candle, whimpering, naked, shuddering, lost.

My god! this love it will make a fool out of us all.

The voices in your head are lying, i tell you this world never stopped you from flying.

So, what ruined you? -hope.

There is a wild in you which thrives in places and on days, when, even the sun in you couldn’t survive.

Hope has never looked the same twice. Pain has never looked the same twice. Love has never looked the same twice.

I remember my mother whispering me every night, if you don’t hold that little light inside you, the universe will let go off the hold of you.

Isn’t this loneliness a strange poetry? you want everyone to read, but you are never willing to write it down.

I will feel whatever the fuck I want to feel.

When I was 14 a chaplain at school gave me a reading list. I read everything and I went back to him with a question: how can you really believe in this stuff?

I’m taking my time trying to transition because the Aaron Carter you saw back then – now [I’m] a completely different person.

Nursing is a progressive art such that to stand still is to go backwards.

To continue in one path is to go backward.

Every one has his faults: but we do not see the wallet on our own backs.

There’s no reason to hold yourself back and say you can’t do something in life unless you go for it and try to do it.

We see not our own backs.

Maybe you’ll get lucky. I said bleakly, lurching on my feet. Maybe I’ll get hit by a truck on my way back.