“When you hold my hand and it feels like a fresh dream.”

You and that love you carry. Like fresh rivers. Like new poetry.

We are ever blossoming.

Some days each breath just lie stuck in your chest, you know?

Love shouldn’t be as fickle as the rain. But an ever flowing torrent.

Remember forgiveness; a kind exhale.

I think there is miracle always spilling into something.

I know the light, but I cannot see it.

Let us be the impossible.

Honestly, I just want to love without the fear of losing anything.

Yes, there are wounds but we are not conquered.

There is always a bit of love whispering from somewhere.

But when has worry ever produced a miracle?

But I must admit. I am desperate for hope.

Tell me, what is hope if not a sweet, sweet companion?

Falling apart to fall together again.

Don’t be afraid to feel everything.