I feel like I'm losing control, whenever these thoughts turn to you.

I'm trying to do what's right. I'm trying to stay away. But my heart's too wild for those kind of intentions...

You are the only person I can write over thirty poems for, the muse no matter what time of night. After every conversation, I flee to my paper and pen because I don't know

(what else to do with you).

We remember

the emotional pain of love, and the physical joy it brought. The times we tried to nurse the holes in our souls.... the times our smiles dared to outlast the moonlight.

It's very strange how I could psych myself into believing you didn't exist here, never meant anything, for a whole day, for a whole moment. You've already impacted my life so greatly. And isn't that something to be grateful for?

Complete surrender requires immense trust.

He shouldn't have to stand for you in order for your voice to be amplified for the audience. Channel your strength, raise your feet and step up to the mic. Touch the audience of reality.

We all have the ability to be brave. Not just a select few of us, but all of us. At any time. Giving up is not the way to live.

And slowly, softly, I'm writing my way out of you.

Her periwinkle eyes sparkle a bit after she cries, you know.