I love you because you loved me first. Yet you love me, saying I loved you first. Funny, our love thrives believing the other person started it.

Your face is engraved in my mind. I can’t erase it. I don’t want to. Because as much as I hate you, I love you. And I love you unforgettably.

The written word can make one pause and contemplate. It can make a reader sigh to dream or question a belief in considerable depth.  But all of that is nothing if those words fail to touch the heart and make one feel.

It’s a difficult thing having a heart made of glass; people don’t seem to realize how easily it shatters. How often I’ve swept up the pieces and carefully glued them back together.

It seems my heart is made of tissue paper; I wish the world would handle it more delicately.

Every heart has a layer of sadness, whether deeply buried or covering the surface for all to see.