“The words…sounded as if they were floating like flowers on the water out there, cut off from them all, as if no one had said them but they had come into existence by themselves.

And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be are full of trees and changing leaves.”


I’m more in love with the simple things. Like the steam that rises off coffee in the morning, and the light breeze that tickles your bare legs when you open the windows, and even smaller miracles than that … if you look hard enough.


I wonder sometimes if it’s really that awful to wish that someone would find you genuinely beautiful. Sometimes I worry it will never happen again …