You loved me in your imagination as long as you could, but when you put down a good book, it's the ugly old world.

There was a distance between words and what you spoke to me, between love, and the way you loved me and we were lost somewhere in between.

We don't love people, we merely love their reflections; like we don't love mirrors, we love what they show.

To love you, I live. To live, I love you. There's an archaic will in me which tells me we are lovers in another life, and I wait to find you here once anon.

It's the last day of August summer, I am in love with life again.

It felt like I was in a movie halfway, in some beautiful elegy, sparkling and dancing in a dream. We were whatever the movies are about.

I feel like a vain empty vase when it's summer all over the city.

"The brown of your eyes were so pretty, and they hid more truths than they conveyed."

Among all the ways of sweet expression, your eyes are the most beautiful.

I had been a long passed time, I had been a leisure hope forgotten once in a while yet I've known ways to love me the way you love a silent lyre; I've been alive the way summer dies, I know in me I have songs of faith unbeknownst and art on the prison walls of my heart and in my mind a multitude of thoughts.

I'm afraid that there are just a few ways to live and I haven't even known them all yet.

In all dark, you were sunset and serein on me. You made a sky of my soul, violets of my heart and an ocean of my love.