You were you,and I was I;we were twobefore our time.I was yoursbefore I knew,and you have always been mine too.
Before I fellin love with words,with setting skies and singing birds—it was you I fellin love with first.
Love is a game of tic-tac-toe,constantly waitingfor the next x or o.
Like time suspended, a wound unmended– you and I. We had no ending, no said goodbye; For all my life, I’ll wonder why.
There is safety in numbness– there is solace in sleep.
I loved you once and now I must spend my whole life explaining why.
Saving YouThe darkness takes him over, the sickness pulls him in; his eyes—a blown out candle, I wish to go with him.Sometimes I see a flicker— a light that shone from them; I hold him to me tightly, before he’s gone again.
I don’t think all writers are sad, she said.I think it’s the other way around—all sad people write.
She lends her pen,to thoughts of him,that flow from it,in her solitary.For she is his poet,And he is her poetry.
Xs and OsLove is a gameof tic-tac-toe,constantly waiting,for the next x or o.
First love,” said Ida with a sigh. “That’s the one that kills you.
Because sooner or later, all kinds of love – crazy love, wild love- fade into the same thing. The love becomes old and predictable -safe.
Audrey, if you had the choice, would you rather be his muse or be in his arms?” “I want to be both. I know it’s the exception rather than the rule, but I can’t hepl what I want.
TimeYou were the oneI wanted mostto stay.But time could notbe kept at bay.The more it goes,the more it’s gone—the more it takes away.
Without a doubt,I must read,all the booksI’ve read about.See the artworkshung on hooks,that I have only,seen in books.
That night, we talked the way old friends do, with candor and ease.
Do you know what it is like,to lie in bed awake;with thoughts to hauntyou every night,of all your past mistakes.Knowing sleep will set it right – if you were not to wake.
I can’t believe how hard it is. The pain is indescribable. It’s like I’ve been turned into sandstone and my insides are being slowly hollowed out by a chisel and mallet.
We spoke on the phone for the first time that morning. My back against the chest of drawers, my knees tucked under my
…you cannot control the depth of a wound another inflicts upon you.
You were none, and now you’re all; your worth will rise, the more I fall.
Some pieces will sing to your present, others may echo of your past, and the rest could whisper of your future.
There is a certain quality to words that when strung in a certain way–has an almost hypnotic effect.
It was from a very young age that I fell in love with this wonderful artifact–the turn of the first page is almost like a sacred ritual to me. Whenever I walk into a library, it is never without some degree of reverence.
For me, that was the death of the word, or; because now, there is no other. It was the end of the word, and; for I love only you.
Anything and everything, the two almost the same–everything says, have it all; anything, one to claim.
It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness, I replied. To be heard after a lifetime of silence.
He deftly dealt his swiftest blow–I fell further than, I was meant to go.
Because someday, in one way or another, you will be taken from me or I you.
The glass bottle does not know its own contents. It has no idea whether it is a vessel for the most delicious apple cider, a lovingly crafted wine, or a bitter poison.
…but how could I have stopped him from taking what was already his?
Your first love isn’t the first person you give your heart to- it’s the first one who beaks it.
When did you stop caring? he asked.When did you start noticing? she replied.
Had I known, I would not have left you,alone beneath those stars,on the night when I last saw you,not knowing it was the last.
Her heart is played like well worn stringsIn her eyes the sadness singsOf one who was destined of better things
The scatterbrain,is a little like,the patter of rain.Neither here,nor there,but everywhere.
Shrinking in a corner,pressed into the wall;do they know I’m present,am I here at all?
Do you love me?” I ask.In your hesitation I found my answer.
I saw love in your smile and I recognized it for the first time in my life. But you had a plane to catch and I was already home.
You forsake all that you hold dear,for a dream that is not your own;you would rather live a liethan live your life aloneUniverse of Us and on thoughtcatalog
You forsake all that you hold dear,for a dream that is not your own;you would rather live a liethan live your life alone
Our emotions pull us in different directions. The stronger the emotion, the greater the pull. Feelings are not always practical, nor do they make any logical sense. That’s just the way it goes.
What was it like to lose him?” Asked Sorrow. There was a long pause before I responded:It was like hearing every goodbye ever said tome—said all at once.
AcceptanceThere are things I missthat I shouldn’t,and those I don’tthat I should.Sometimes we wantwhat we couldn’t—sometimes we lovewho we could.
If any person claims to have loved twice in all their life — they have not loved at all.
Every letterthat she types;every keystrokethat she strikes-To spell your nameagain and again,is all she everwants to write.
You can create something that is pure genius, but you have to get your timing right.
Writing is a conduit. It opens up a passageway into the past. Not just for the writer, but for the reader too. Both readers and writer are linked by the commonality of human experience.
In a sea of strangers,you’ve longed to know me.Your life spent sailingto my shores.