“She was poetry written in pen, scribbled and scrawled again and again. Ink splattered across the page. And within those scratched words, those small, sharp incisions, an image can be seen and you re left to wonder what, in the end, this all could mean.”
“Our bodies are made of supernova dust, the epitome of ultimate destruction and shatter. And though we are whole, beings with bodies and souls, with cosmos in our eyes and black heart holes, we love as fiercely as the force of creation.”
“She was poetry written in pen, scribbled and scrawled again and again.”
“I spill my emotions and hopes on pieces of paper and pixels of screens, combining and creating, merging traditional methods with artificial means.Words carved in ink and electricity to facilitate simplicity and eradicate toxicity. No matter what fashion, form, font, method or avenue, the simplest and most meaningful words remain ever so true; I choose and love, only forever you.”
“I was burdened with an ever-growing heart on the verge of decay. To save myself, I had to give many pieces of my love away. I hope I can give it all to someone, someday.”
“I don t know anymore, whether it s a curse or a blessing to see the beauty in the ugly. Growing up simply and getting old complexly. I now see reason behind sin, and love behind pain.”
“On these days, I ve never felt so hollow. Recollecting the many pieces of me that were lost in past sub-lives. They were the minor characters of my novel life, the sub-plots to the whole story. On these days I was the binding that held the book together, I was not the words.”
“Adventures kept hidden, words kept silent. You became my greatest secret. And when you left, no one knew the source of the pain I felt. No one knew you existed, except my writhing heart.”
“The soul is sustained by spirituality.”
“The storm only grew stronger. Walls of facets became flooded with cracks, the tumultuous gale escaped through the smallest crevice. With her arms spread wide and all her muscles hard and taunt, she broke free from the chrysalis, letting loose her new wings and that mighty storm. I thought it was over, but I was wrong. She spread her wings and sang her song. She rode upon the howl of wind until she was gone.”
“In a way, she became the sand to my hourglass... she made watching that trickling sand a little more bearable. I no longer worried about what would happen when the sand ran out. I began to see the spark each grain held as it fell.”