I stopped dressing in black because you had bought the color back into my life. You said that I was the spark of hope in your life. Then you left. I waited. And waited for you to come back. But you didn't. So, I lost myself and kept my heart in the lost and found box. I turned towards the sun letting the shadows fall behind me. All the shadows. Including me.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

its yur birthday
happy birthday
i miss u alot
i'm srry

It's a story of a man
Who dived too deep
It's a story of a life
And wonder and heap
It's a story of a mystery
And junk to sweep
It's a story of music
That puts you to sleep
It's a story of a journey
With tears that seep
It's a story of memories
Force you to weep
It's a story of a turtle
With dreams to leap
It's a story of everything
But nothing to keep