...And maybe we don’t have to call it anything. Maybe we can call it holding hands, sharing secrets, and three am texts. We could just keep watching movies but not really watching them. No, we don’t have to call it love, even though it can be. Even though I think it is. Even though I need it to be. I just know that I want you. Even if you don’t want to label it. Even if you are not ready to say what it means to me.

I cannot paint, but if I could, I would simply set your face to canvas and show the the world the masterpiece you are.

Here love sits with us, it rests,
smiling gently from the corner.
Never going anywhere.

After the last violent ****** and consequential shiver she could never tell whether it was sweat or tears that dripped down her back.

Where is home for the born wanderer?

                                                                      















                                                                                                             Alone

They told me love never dies, so I sit here wondering why it feels like you've pulled a trigger.

She was a star. Glimmering and shining bright for all to see.

Letting others cast their wishes upon her.

Then sometimes, when she was all alone, she would fall.