And in the end, we were all just humans.. drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.
Sometimes I sit alone under the stars and think of the galaxies inside my heart and truly wonder if anyone will ever want to make sense of all that I am
It was rather beautiful: the way he put her insecurities to sleep. The way he dove into her eyes and starved all the fears and tasted all the dreams she kept coiled beneath her bones.
Not only didI love her,but I could tellthe universe lovedher, too.More than others.She was different.After all; I wouldbe a fool not tonotice the way thesunshine played withher hair.
she lived with hurricane eyes and fell in love with the way the waves collapsed against her cheeks.
She writes things with her movements that I for the life of me could never write with a pen.
She stared at the stars like they were pillow for her mind and in their light she could rest her heavy head.
It is the feeling of never knowing what we want that truly drives us all mad…. Holding things because we think in a moment we love them only to uncurl our fingers later and softly give them back to the earth.
My hunger for writing will die when I have bled for the humans that never found the strength to find the words themselves
Nothing brings to life again a forgotten memory like a fragrance.
And in the end, we were all just humans, drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.