Your darkness is a symphonyPlayed in explosions of silence to a crowd that has fallen in love with noiseIf they refuse to applaud youIt isn’t because your music isn’t beautiful It is because they have...

She stared at the stars like they were pillow for her mind and in their light she could rest her heavy head.

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.

My hunger for writing will die when I have bled for the humans that never found the strength to find the words themselves

Tears are the silent passion for suffering

Nothing brings to life again a forgotten memory like a fragrance.

She writes things with her movements that I for the life of me could never write with a pen.

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.