He was beautiful and still is, we just couldn’t flow within the same constellation.

His love was a poison: soft and loveable, hideous yet touchable.

I believe we were right for each other, but not in that moment, which perhaps hindered any possibility of a future.

He said he was going to fix everything and I believed him. But I believed him before and again some. And I guess I got lost in the resentment of disbelief.

we were justlooking for what couldinstead of what waswhat should beinstead of how it was

Give second chances, third chances, but not a fourth, a fifth, a sixth and so on. Appreciate yourself and understand your worth – know it takes time for people to change, to become better. But know what you can take and what you deserve.

I’m floating. I’m flowing. I’m loving, but I’m going.

His whisper was the softest sound I ever knew, which seemed to bring the loudest heartbeat.

It didn’t affect him because he couldn’t fathom how I felt. He never saw how I held or how I dealt. And when a breeze hits, his first thought is never a scent. We worked in different ways and different places, which were divided by a constellation.