blow out all the candles

Everything has its beauty but not everyone sees it.

I tend to feel lonely, But, when the stars come out, I count them, And I think (I know), that i’d rather be sat, Counting the freckles on your back; Or the bumps in your spine, Or the amount of times you blink before you notice me looking. Yet when the stars come out I am reminded, That we are under the same sky and I know (I hope), You’d look outside and count the stars, and wish I Was counting the freckles on your back And the bumps in your spine And hope to catch me counting the amount of times you blink, and pretend you never saw me, So I keep looking, which makes you less lonely. I still can’t help but long, To be inhaling the scent muffled in The part of your neck, Where my head fits so perfectly, And to see your eyes, that speak words your lips could not produce

Sometimes, I travel too far from myself and need proof that I’ve not died.

You don’t have to see the whole staircase. Just take the first step.

I used to dislike being sensitive. I thought it made me weak. But take away that single trait, and you take away the very essence of who I am. You take away my conscience, my ability to empathize, my intuition, my creativity, my deep appreciation of the little things, my vivid inner life, my keen awareness to others pain and my passion for it all.