You look for truth in the beginning, but nothing makes sense until the end.

Some oceans make sense. Most do not. Become the difference.

Masochists hold on to broken people. Artists hold on to broken memories.

I loved you with texture. You loved with a softness. Texture brought detail, softness brought folds. Folds brought creases and creases had secrets.

How you react to a situation says more about you than you know.

We were as big as the ocean, but as fragile as an ego.

I loved you with different words than you knew and that seemed to scare you.

Silence is only awkward if one cannot feel a connection with the other.

Mountains in the distance remind me of you.