Tell her you love her, that you have never loved anyone else the way you love her.
I was born a Jackson Pollock painting when I wanted to be a Gustave Courbet.
We all deserve a kind of love we keep on giving to everyone.
You remembered him like it was serenity. You stop in your tracks, gaze at the sky, smiling as you begin to close your eyes; then you breathe — like it was your first.
You were my November rain. All the same as the dark gray clouds that took me by surprise each year.
Heartbreak sucks; but it is also not the end of the world.
Pretend I don’t miss hard alcohol and bad decisions and people who made me chase them.
I remember that I was impossibly happy. My heart was hers. All of me was hers.
I thought we were going to make it, all this time I felt so sure of it. And then you told me you didn’t feel that way, that you didn’t know if there was room for me and my heart shattered.
I was always the one with the strong heart, who was designed to learn from my mistakes, and to grow into an even greater person. I was never looking for something to blame. I was always accepting responsibility.