The opposite of grief is not laughter or happiness or joy. It is love. It is love. It is love.

The art of leaving and the art of loving are not the same.

She is a woman. No matter how hard you think she has grown, she always has her softer parts. Feel her there.

I don't know if you know, but sometimes, hearts have to love in pieces too.

What if the poem loses?What if it never tastes victory like the intent it was written with?