I don’t know if you know, but sometimes, hearts have to love in pieces too.

Love me like my demons do.

I have a body too young and a mind full of years. Everything in me has witnessed its own ending. I have lived through nightmares and perished in blissful dreams. What all that’s left – eats me from within but still melts me from without, and that is where my humility takes birth.

What if the poem loses?What if it never tastes victory like the intent it was written with?

People often compare depression to drowning. That is not even close. Consider sitting in a dark roomscared and confused—Choking on something you know nothing about,For reasons you cannot comprehend.That is depression. When you are drowning, you can still flail your arms,call for help, and try your best to keep afloat.In depression, you do nothing.Absolutely nothing.

I don't know if you know, but sometimes, hearts have to love in pieces too.

Find yourself. And if you don’t like what you see, re-create yourself. But first, please, find yourself.

She is a woman. No matter how hard you think she has grown, she always has her softer parts. Feel her there.

The art of leaving and the art of loving are not the same.

That window which connects youto the agony of other people;that’s your soul.Close that window and you are soulless. And a soulless man is vestigial.He hears but cannot listen. He sees but cannot notice.And everyone knows:when eyes and ears become jobless,We look for excuses.We hear angels and devils speak. We confabulate.We make up godsand lick their feet.—Superstitions