86 quotes found
“The flicker, the flutter, even thoughts can stutter.”
“And though they fell as ashes, their shadows drifted as leaves.”
“She was poetry written in pen, scribbled and scrawled again and again.”
“Woven words are little conviction when I present myself as a man of fiction.”
“She is beyond any mortal structure of words, yet she inspires the effort to try anyway.”
“She was the half-whispers born from half-thoughts, the half-breaths of dying half-hearts.”
“She was an echo masquerading as a shadow and she followed me just the same. The night and its moon were her favor while the sunrise and sunlight the daggers that sliced her to ribbons. She looked t...”
“...4-5-6: when time escapes the day in its most beautiful way. She starves for that beauty, she longs to quench her limitless thirst, but those moments are so fleeting and their limit is her unrest...”
“What do you do when your words aren't enough? What do you do when your actions have no effect? What do you do when all the fibers of your existence scream just to be heard? And yet, only the most d...”
“She was a mimicry of a facade fashioned from the half-truths of her life. She was a beautiful abomination, patched together from the most pristine and terrible parts she could find. She was a black...”
“Though I exist in the realms of day and night, I'm only truly alive in the moments between.”
“If I tear the sun from the sky and bring all the stars cascading down, would that line of your lips curve to a smile or a frown? With my hands burnt to a crisp and prosthetics in their place, would...”
“And once the ripples still and the water returns to its unwavering calm, even the pebble that broke its surface will be forgotten. And the world will go on.”
“I was lost in the moments I decided to keep. To be awake in a dreamless sleep. And in that place between dream and sleep, I planted some more things I would like to keep.”
“She was starmetal bones with kaleidoscope eyes. A cracked framework of unique beauty, a patchwork portrait filled with swirling brush strokes, an amalgamation of delicate light and detailed shatter...”
“She's an array of undiscovered words, of feeling beyond my threshold. I'm just a man, trying to hold himself together in her wake.”
“I gave her the world, the moon, the sun, the stars, the planets... I gave her my breath, my voice, my sight, my life... I gave her memories, dreams, happiness... I gave her care and compassion... I...”
“It was her eyes. Soft, meadow-shade eyes with frostbitten edges. Every glance casually held gossamer infinity. Every stare revealed inky black abyss with a hint of divinity.”
“Stop the bleeding! Gauze the wound!" And his voice became much softer, "Those are the words... I've yet to write." He died with that exhale. He died in a steaming carmine pool of unwritten stories ...”
“She was carmine shadows reflecting from my crimson words. Every pulse sent a velvet ripple through the shade. Every breath, a scarlet pause.”
“With ravenous passion and reckless ambition he forged his thoughts into words, obsessed with the notion that dying would not be the last thing he would do.”
“He was a musician of the best nature, with guitar string fingertips and soft flute lips that could tighten in a trumpet's purse. Every movement was perfect, every breath filled with purpose. Whethe...”
“He gave up. No hint of ember behind his eyes nor life in his breath. He snipped the last, overstretched strand of hope, and nicked the strand of life by mistake. He did it with his hands.”
“She had the blood of the sun running through her veins and the dust of stars at her fingertips. Her every breath birthed new cosmos and her thoughts were the super moon of the darkest night. Every ...”
