I miss your silent stature, your avoided days of disaster, your present state of distress.
I’m cinnamon, cloves and fire, you are the rested cedarwood of desire.

“Her heart had grown so familiar to the pain of life without him, that to respon…”

“I don't want to go viral, I want to set hearts on fire.”

“Love is not of value when this superficial contract must be drawn up, represent…”

“She’s hanging free, at liberty.”