Van Gogh was probably crazy, because most good artists are.
Plants are green because they absorb every color of light except for green.
It’s funny how the moment you tell someone you love them, it sets you both free.
People are afraid of bees, who die right after they sting you.
Van Gogh drank yellow paint because he thought it would make him happy.
And I can understand because I wish I had a yellow heart, too.
Maybe we are plants because it seems those who live the saddest lives are the happiest souls.
And I’ve lived a really hard life but my soul is on fire with love for every moment.
Love is a lot like anger, because it usually takes just one person hostage.
But maybe it’s sort of beautiful how only getting those words off
my chest made you stop showing up in my dreams.
I’m allergic to bee stings and I got stung by the Queen four times at the beach.
But maybe she felt like she was taking a bullet for someone she loved; herself.
It’s hard to wrap my brain around this planet that’s always spinning,
because my fingers are always slipping and my heart beats out of my chest,
dropping into my stomach and causing nervous butterflies.
But maybe it doesn't matter how tight of a grip I can stick onto the Earth,
but, instead, how gracefully I can let it go.
I wish I was still your yellow paint.