Is This Real Life¿

Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.

Poetry is a tough racket, the bastard child of the arts. But I am so thankful for diving into this art form. The life I have seen because of it has been raw and remarkable.

Being in love is a very strange thing. Your thoughts constantly drift towards this other person, no matter what you’re doing. You could be reaching for a glass in the cupboard or brushing your teeth or listening to someone tell a story, and your mind will just start drifting towards their face, their hair, the way they smell, wondering what they’ll wear, and what they’ll say the next time they see you.

She is not a writer at all, really; she is merely a gifted eccentric.

You are so vulnerably haunting. Your eeriness is terrifyingly irresistible.

I wish I could take back the horrible things I’ve done to people. I wish I could go back in time and make things right, because even though I’ve been trying to, I might be making everything worse.