Sometimes you want to say, “I love you, but…”Yet the “but” takes away the ‘I love you’. In love their are no ‘buts’ or ‘if’s’ or ‘when’. It’s just there, and always. No beginning, no end. It’s the condition-less state of the heart. Not a feeling that comes and goes at the whim of the emotions. It is there in our heart, a part of our heart…eventually grafting itself into each limb and cell of our bodies. Love changes our brain, the way we move and talk. Love lives in our spirit and graces us with its presence each day, until death.To say “I love you, but….” is to say, “I did not love you at all”.I say this to you now: I love you, with no beginning, no end. I love you as you have become an extra necessary organ in my body. I love you as only a girl could love a boy. Without fear. Without expectations. Wanting nothing in return, except that you allow me to keep you here in my heart, that I may always know your strength, your eyes, and your spirit that gave me freedom and let me fly.

When you miss someone....it’s weird…your body doesn’t function normally..as it should. Because I miss you, and my heart…it’s not steady…my soul it sings numb. Fingers are cold…like you…your soul.

I wore your promise on my finger for one yearI'll wear your name on my heart til I dieBecause you were my boy, you were my only boy forever.

Her heart had grown so familiar to the pain of life without him, that to respond now seemed too large a pleasure she could not endure. If pain was love, then she loved fiercely. Yet knew she could not be near that boy again.

He brought out the worst in me, and was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Growth in love comes from a place of absence, where the imagination is left to it’s own devices and creates you to be much more then reality would ever allow.

When we are in love, we are convinced nobody else will do. But as time goes, others do do, and often do do, much much better.

I remember when your name was just another name that rolled without thought off my tongue.Now, I can’t look at your name without an abundance of sentiment attached to each lettter.Your name, which I played with so carelessly, so easily, has somehow become sacred to my lips.A name I won’t throw around lightheartedly or repeat without deep thought.And if ever I speak of you, I use the English language to describe who you were to me. You are nameless, because those letters grouped together in that familiar form….. carries too much meaning for my capricious heart.

I want your most vital organ. I want it to be mine.

…..she needed him to know she did not care. She was spirited, tenacious, and full of contempt for him.

You cannot mistake thisYou cannot reinvent this moment You cannot call this loveIt is so much more

You don’t deserve my image in your head. You don’t deserve my memories in your chest.

You’re a mess, I confess, I despise you in the best kind of way.

He’s an indulgent sort of man……With a quick lip and a fierce tongue, the sort of tongue that draws you in with charm and words of praise, awkward silences and desperate worships.

It's a finger snapping kind of day.

My lips are fierce with passion. My heart spins fiery beats. A rhythm lives within my fingers and dances in my feet.

He had let me know time after time that he was a thinking man, a man of intellect and wit. Yet one unintended hungry look into my eyes and he betrayed each of his words he had carefully spoken to me. I knew it in that instant. He was a viscerally driven man. And one day, he would possess me.

He offered her power, money, status...a giant prison, all in exchange for only...her soul.

He cared less, so they cared more. He said it was beautiful. I knew he was broken.This was his game.

Bittersweet? No, just bitter, the taste of your tongue.Words you can’t have back, so they linger.

I won’t let you have it. I won’t give you this moment. I won’t let you fill up this valuable organ...I own it. I won’t do it. I can’t think, I won’t think about it.

I HOLDIf I could have had him,I could have let himgo.But withoutthe having there was nothing—so to the nothingIhold.

And I don’t even like you, but the pain of life without you is biting.

She stabbed him with her wicked pretty knife, disrupted his simple life.She's a player, a heartbreaker,and now she breaks alone.

I wait, you play. You speak, I cave. I promise, you break. You game me, daily, you play me.

…so many ticks steadily around the clock. My heart beats ferociously, as if to say it will not digest this leaving. But you are gone. I could never look into your tormenting eyes again. You mock me with each word you choose…. of the millions of words in the English tongue you could have chosen…you select the one’s that break me down.

....finally I see that it’s never been me, just a blanket that keeps you warm. Easily tossed alongwhen something flashier or someone prettier comes along. Your heart I held so carefully, I see, this was all just a game...

A POCKET-SIZED GIRLHe keeps me in his pocket for a rainy day; he swears I'm not an object as he yo-yo's me away.A friend is what we'll call it,but my friend, he does not know,each time it rains I love him— so to his pocket, I must go.He thinks he's being clever,but I am not a fool;his love ain't worth a penny,so to my heart I must be cruel.

MY MOONI'll always wonder what time it is there; if you're dreaming, or awake. My moon is your sun; my darkness, your light. I'm in the future, you'd jokingly say.And I know where you are, because I'm watching you from the past.

7amThey said that I’d forget you,and I knew it wasn’t true.But sometimes I wake up now,and my heart’s no longer blue.I press the Keurig button,dancing across the room—Sometimes it’s nearly seven,before I’ve thought of you.And though we sleep together,all night side by side,one day I’ll have my coffeewithout you in my mind.

WORTHYIf you ever decide to feel— feel this:I love you. I always have. I always will.Not because you're charming, beautiful or lovable.But because I choose you.Everyday I wake up and I choose you— again, and again, and again.But if you cannot feel, and if you never feel this, then know:I do not love you. I never have. I never will.Because you're not worth my love.(Come back my love, I am drowning.)

A WISHSometimes I wish that he will liveand I will see him.But mostly I wish that he will die, and take my memories with him.

The world I held so closely, she played me like a game,I released and left her laughing to stand on my own two feet.

You’ve no idea the restraint I’ve created. A word, which in a past life, never held special meaning for me, flows now through the blood of my veins as if to remind me it was always there. Like you, always there. You said I was not strong. So I created strength to fight against these natural feelings which keep me tied to you. I drew a line in the sand so I would not step towards your door again. I have boundaries, strength and pride. What I do not have is you. And that is the only part I wanted. You’ve no idea the restraint I’ve created. You’ve no idea the bold wall I’ve built to keep me out of your compromising arms.

I’m mistaken….for thinking you were someone with a heart worth breaking.

Maybe she had it wrong all this time and her empty heart could never be filled by his ingenious broken spirit. Maybe this yearning had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with her.

Now he was nothing to her, just a lesson in time, a wicked boy-man, incapable of wealth or prestige.

She had missed him so long now, that the feeling had become a part of her. As each day passed, the missing distanced itself from her heart. One day she woke, and realized the missing was there but the pain was gone. Missing without pain is tolerable. Pain linked to heartache is intolerable.

She wanted to write to him. Tell him she was glad he was back, that he was alive, that he was home and safe. But words to him no longer fit right in her her mouth.Words which belonged in his ownership were no longer hers to give. Silence was the only acceptable state her heart would grant. He would never know what he missed, because she refused to be heard in his presence. All the words he could have had, all the phrases he might have danced with. The smiles which would have been imprinted upon his heart, would never be. And his lips would never be able to reply to the words she could not say.

Writers do not have the privilege of sleep. There is always a story coming alive in their heads, constantly composing. Whether they choose it or not.

It's all mine, it's all sacred.

I want your hand without the skin. Bone to bone without the molds. Mouth to mouth, without the porn.

You break me the hardest, make me the strongest, and keep me the softest.

But every spiteful word she ever wrote him was effortless love clenched in her fists. Her heart screaming for stability in this fiery game of desire.

I miss your silent stature, your avoided days of disaster, your present state of distress.I’m cinnamon, cloves and fire, you are the rested cedarwood of desire.

Color me....BRILLIANT.

Tricks ripped and you tripped, tricked yourself by falling slowly.I’m the winner in this game,unable to stoop to your level of shame.Unwilling to reply to your words of ache.

Defend myself? I cannot defend the verbal repressions of a boy. A curmudgeonly, cantankerous, ill-tempered, counterfeit boy.

...I feel like a traitor, a phony, a fake. But I am a hypocrite with the best intentions, and I need kissing desperately.

If I wasn't so phenomenal. I would go back to you.

I near felt bad he choose to be so evil to me. I am a forgiving woman, but my pen... oh my wicked wicked hormonal she-pen.

Time to get a go on this drop-dead-gorgeous morning.

Elegant writers depict intricacy with simplicity.