"Write one sentence, the truest sentence that you know."-Hemingway

So I took his advice.

I wrote it on the walls of your slumber and
along the spines of my favorite days.
I painted it on windows,
we turned into doors,
and doors we turned into walls.
I wrote it on your sharp tongue
and all it's favorite places to explore,
the latitudes
and longitudes of a truth unraveled.

I will always love you.

It is important to write really bad pieces of poetry and prose.
Keep them in a journal somewhere.
Don't share them.
Just get them out there and tuck them away.
We must purge the cliche and mundane,
so that we may begin the work of creating art that moves.
We must press beyond the idiocy of our immediate thought and
find the inner wellspring of power.
Just beneath the petty complaints,
and regurgitated phrases,
inches deep beyond our projections and fears.
If we can sit long enough with our demons,
inner child,
and god-like spirits we will find something truly worth saying.
Worth giving.
Worth making.
Our legacy is planted only as deep as our honesty.

Learn to fall in love with your grief.
It is one of the most freeing things you can do for yourself.

If you're consumed by a deep,
stabbing anguish,
then it means your passionate,
it means you care about something enough to let it crack your bones and
boil your blood while intensity holds hands with zealousness and
locks lips with your spirit.

Never mistake your thundering sorrow for weakness.
It means you are not merely alive;
but you're ******* alive.

Little life.
Soft fingers turning pages.
You will never be the same as you were a moment ago.
Constantly moving and constantly learning.
Airplanes,
whispers and
cookie crumbs.
Already your life is moving faster and leaving yesterday to the dogs.
None of us are here forever,
but if only somehow I could freeze these little moments in time
and re-live them forever and ever.