it's about love.

…she bloomed in his hands.

…and I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.

Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart.

I can feel this heart inside me and I conclude it exists. I can touch this world and I also conclude that it exists. All my knowledge ends at this point. The rest is hypothesis.

How does she look? Anxious and unhappy, but very beautiful.

You explode in me here and there, now and always; you are causing a brain seizure in my fucking heart. I’ve been so actively lethargic, I am in goddamn literal pain without you.

He loved her, of course, but better than that, he chose her, day after day. Choice: that was the thing.

All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.

He loved her, he loved her, and until he’d loved her she had never minded being alone.

Make yourself a priority once in a while. It’s not selfish. It’s necessary.

We are all broken, that’s how the light gets in.

But the heart has its own memory and I have forgotten nothing.