I’ll cling to the hope that one day, after such a strenuous wait, I shall hold you in my arms and whisper against your lips, “My dearest, you were worth every second.

I shall not lose hope that we will meet again. Even the astronomers believe those destined to collide, whether they be stars or people, might cross paths and go their separate ways but eventually doth find themselves brought together once more. And so, I hope.

Missing someone is the same as breathing, I suppose. It continues until the end.

Poets use countless words to describe their pain, but I only need three: I miss you.

A woman of little propriety may not receive the public’s respect, but she will gain their attendance.

GOOD shouldn’t be used to describe a girl in any way. There are good books, good food, but not good girls.

In those pages, I belonged to him, and regardless of time and place, I’m confident he was mine.

Live always with the wind against your cheeks and buds of gorse tucked into your hair. Live always, and never forget where you belong.

The missing comes in waves, some more intense than others. I miss the toothpaste globs he left in the sink, how he’d watch the morning news while I ate breakfast. I miss crying on his shoulder, talking his ears off, being the first person to hear about his good days and the first to embrace him on his bad ones. I miss the small things more than the big things because the small things proved he was mine.

I need a day with you, then another. I need an infinite amount of last days with you because none of them, no matter what we do, will be good enough to encapsulate how much I love you.