Without patience and persistence.— % &

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Be with me when I get tired of crying and have nothing left to express.

And I'll do the same for you.

Perhaps that'll be the language of our love.— % &

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They can accept my imperfections without judgements or pity;
When they can appreciate the spaces I reserve for myself even while we are together.— % &

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That flicker of light they call hope.— % &

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Some days are like the unfinished pages of a diary;
A catharsis at the beginning,
A callosity in the middle ending with an ellipsis ...

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I've always wanted to write a letter
That is heartfelt from beginning to end;
A letter that is a memory,
A letter that is a companion,
A letter that is assurance and comfort,
A letter that is everything the writer wishes the reader to know,
And everything the reader wishes to hear.

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Love is the song you can sing even with a broken voice or a sore throat.

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There must be something about questions, that people avoid being questioned so often.

Is it simply their inability to answer them?
Or
Is it the fear of the conflicts their answers might cause?

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We, as humans, tend to be too careless with words; otherwise why would we use words we don't want to mean so often?
And why would it be so hard for us sometimes to use words we genuinely want to mean?

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The farther we step into the real world,
The more we'll need the comfort of fiction.

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