If you keep picking at that scab on your heart, it won't heal.
Different cities visit us daily, they exist in the clouds.
Dear Optimism, nice to see you. I've got an extra room, how about you stay for a while.
What are we doing? Are we talking? Are we having fun? Are we building, destroying, remembering, or forgetting love?
I am at times prisoner to the darkness. Light will find a way in I am always assured. The sun has not died. The moon has not died. I live.
I know gray areas too well. I write for silent audiences.
We were bullied, broken, built up, bronzed and polished. We grew dull, dusty, doubtful, dark, and forgetful.Yet we still know that we can love deeply.