As I read you I fell in love with the holes between your words and I loved you most on the days you could not love yourself.

If God could transcribe my heart, it'd still read "I love you".

You are alone,So alone,You speak back to silence.People call it loneliness,You call it solitude,Different words,Meaning the same pain.

Poetry is a storm asking peace to dance with her.

I write to forget the days that broke me into a million nights.

You ask me to write you a poem,I pen you an empty ocean,You run away.You ask me who I am,I paint you a breaking sky,You weep in the rain.

The pen, a double-edged mystery: cuts the writer, heals the reader.

I am the poet, you are the poem; I hold the pen, you are the words, love is the ink, silence is the blank page.

We write to go on living, after we have died.