Taking a risk to survive isn’t that impressive. Taking a risk to be happy, that takes guts.

Love, deep and pure, it opens my heart. It feels like a magical force, one I’d fight to protect, one I’d die to keep.

No one ever told me how sorrow traumatizes your heart, making you think it will never beat exactly the same way again. No one ever told me how grief feels like a wet sock in my mouth. One I’m forced to breathe through, thinking that with each breath I’ll come up short and suffocate.

My heart is kerosene, my mind a match. I’m seconds away from igniting.

The world is dictated by our desires rather than our thoughts. The prior puts the latter in motion.

Most people aren’t happy. They sing songs like they are. Make up cute little stories. Post pics of the rare times when life wasn’t dreadful. Most people are stomaching this whole affair called life. Are these people complainers? Probably. Most are. But they’re also just blokes who’re too afraid to take a risk. So they live lives in a redundant cycle of complacent apathy. Then these people wallow around day after day in their unhappiness. The more you do that, the more you lose sight of the chances you could take to make things better.

Don’t make loss in your life make you a loser.

I’m an anchor and he is the sea and I sink into his tenderness as he presses my hand to his heart.

Travel makes existentialists of us all.

You know, sometimes even when two people love each other the universe still conspires against them, forces them apart.

If my time loving you has taught me anything, it’s that love grows with every returned smile, every second of communal silence and every word exchanged. Unconditional love is built and when it’s finished nothing destroys it.

When a heart breaks a substance spills out like cement and pours through the bloodstream, hardening everything. In time, I know my heart will mend and the rock inside will crack and crumble away. But for now I’m as solid as a column. And alone I stand.

People who make mistakes are in the best position to make better choices.

Unconditional love is something people achieve once they’ve given themselves over completely to someone. Once they’ve decided that no matter what the other person does, they will always love them.

Regret swallows broken men whole. Acceptance builds them anew.

Rarely does the truth set us free. Usually it chains us to the earth like a ghost.

Tears ache in my throat and each time his lips caress mine I’m closer to the dam within me bursting open. He’s undoing me, tearing out my demons with burning strokes of his lips and the salty taste of his mouth. In his arms, I’m changing, becoming anew.

I know how it fees to plead. I know how it feels to wish someone would give you a chance to help them.

Wars are won from a wink, a gesture, an event that transpired a millennium before the battle. Humanity has always been saved by small acts; the ones where someone gained a piece of their own puzzle, not the ones where a hero stood prodigious on a battlefield.

My dark secret is I’ve always wished I was Gatsby. As heartbroken as he was and as horrible a fate as he endured, I admired that he loved. It’s a difficult thing to do.

Right now in this space, I feel a brand new pull to him. I’ve always been drawn to his features, his brilliance, his laughter, his passion. But right now I’m attracted to his pain. It makes him human. It makes him real. It makes him something he hardly ever is to me: accessible.

Not the way he looks, but specifically the way he looks at me threatens my inhibitions. It’s all greedy yearning.

Sometimes the best thing about us isn’t what we’re gifted with, but what we can make others feel just by our very nature of existing.

Denial has rented a room in my head and frequently stomps around slamming doors.

One of the many reasons I love libraries. Everyone is lost and not wanting to be found in a library.

Millions of pages cloaked in dust and inspiration and wisdom.