Don't tell one who writes of grief to rethink their "I" statements. When you know they had tears on their hands as they wrote, don't say the poem could be better. You might as well say their grief could be worse.

If someone shares a poem with you that is meant to help close an open wound, they don't want your opinion. They want your hand on their shoulder, gripping it tight.

The older I get, the more I realize the less I matter
except to a few, and the pressure grows daily to become
everything to them.

Maybe finding someone to share everything with is not the point.
Maybe the point is to feel fulfilled in the self-consciousness of individuality.

I wish I could believe in heaven. What a gift it would be to believe I will see you again someday. And what a punishment it is feeling in my heart that I won't.

Be wary of assuming everyone thinks the same when you’ve only asked your friends.

What we choose not to say, says something.

Death happens to the living.

I'm not who I was yesterday, and tomorrow I won't be me.

When you're given a certain degree of power, it's almost immediately hard to imagine living without it.