We all want so badly to divorce reality, but that bitch just won't sign the papers.

To love her was to inhale her existence.

She married her sadness and slept with happiness on the weekends.

I hold a hope in me that the reason we all feel so heavy is that we carry a little piece of each other inside us.

You little fire child, I will swallow you whole and cough up your ash and the entire world will watch in bewildering astonishment at all that you were made of.

The thing about chaos, is that while it disturbs us, it too, forces our hearts to roar in a way we secretly find magnificent.

If you ever want your soul to dance in the clouds, you will at some point have to juggle lightning and taste the thunder.

I am madly in love with humans. Especially the strange ones. For it is ever so beautiful to be strange. To do things differently than others. To see things in a rare light. To me, that is such gold to carry.

The problem with love these days is that society has taught the human race to stare at people with their eyes rather than their souls.

For a brief moment, I swore, the moon fell asleep in your eyes, and dreams became the way the light leaked from your eyelids.

Chaos is an angel who fell in love with a demon.

She writes things with her movements that I for the life of me could never write with a pen.

We live in such a lonely world because most days we wake up and decide to marry no one but ourselves.

Her spirit was a bed in which his loneliness could softly rest.

We build castles with our fears and sleep in them like kings and queens.

We know so perfectly how to give birth to the monsters inside us, but for reasons I will never figure out, we have not the slightest clue of what to do with all the love.

Nothing brings to life again a forgotten memory like fragrance.

I can feel her breathe through the holes in me.

There are pieces in me that die when she leaves these blankets.

I loved her not for the way she danced with my angels, but for the way the sound of her name could silence my demons.

Love is many things and sometimes we are never really sure if it even exists, but all I know is that if you were to show me her soul in a photograph, I wouldn't even ask to see the others.

All that I ask is that when I die, bury me in fractions of ash in all of the cities she ever felt alone.