Maybe she knew some day it would become my job. My job to complete the melody she had begun.
Words, to me, are the same as an instrument is to a musician. I never know where this typewriter is going to take me until I begin. I never know what I’m feeling until I read over what I have written.
It’s easy to be a Christian when you’re living the perfect life. It’s easy to live a perfect life when God seems to be showering you with blessings.
Hiding a wound can cause a serious infection without healing. It has to be exposed and washed. Sure, the cleansing may cause pain at first—but, in the end, it brings healing, as well as relief.
This typewriter is the only one that has listened to me throughout the years, the only one who wants to know the girl beneath my layers.
Who do those boys think they are, treating us as if we are their property, taking away our innocence?
Your poetry–it doesn’t deserve to be locked away, hidden from the rest of the world. And neither do you.
The moon is your reminder that God is never-changing, and you can always depend on Him to hear your prayers.
I wonder if only artists can feel peace like this—such a gentle, inconspicuous peace that an ordinary person might not even notice.
Life is too short, you know? You have to make the best of it. Do things most teenagers wouldn’t do.