It did hurt, it hurt her like hell. His muted thoughts that cut her

flesh of poetry open with silent knives, yet what he didn't know is

that, with his silences, he was only teaching her to live without

him. He was her cocoon, but it was too late... She was

becoming a butterfly. And with her wings of poetry she would

soon learn how to fly. And, he will break.. and it will hurt him

see her leave but it will be too late, she wont look back, for she will

be free.


*-Sandoval

I touched  him with my hands of galaxies; And spoke to him,

the silent language of the universe.



*-Sandoval

I* watch him while he tells a story. And how he gets excited

when he's about to get to the good part, and I just sit there and

listen to him. As if he were the only person in the room. To me,

that's happiness.


-*Sandoval

I* saw my reflection in the glass that I lifted to my face. It was the

reflection of a drunken disappointment,  and this red wine tasted

like  loneliness and sad  poetry. I don't know what you did to

me, but

Hemingway,  Neruda and Fitzgerald all went down in history,

and I'm starting to understand why. Unrequited love. One  more sip

and the next drunken  poet is me.


*-Sandoval

Time* always takes but never gives. And, if you ask me what you were to me. You were a watch on my wrist.

*-Sandoval

Tame* the fire inside my soul but please, don't extinguish it.
*-Sandoval

Why cant you love me the same way I love you? He asked.


- My dear, all my favorite writers are dead, life isn't fair. I responded.


*-Sandoval

The devil smiled while he comforted me from his own hell.
*-Sandoval