Sometimes the break in your heart is like the hole in the flute. Sometimes it’s the place where the music comes through.

I thought, "The flowers, save the flowers..." I never thought for a second we wouldn't save the people

I know this world is far from perfect. I am not the type to mistake a streetlight for the moon. I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic. But every ocean has a shoreline and every shoreline has a tide that is constantly returning to wake the songbirds in our hands, to wake the music in our bones, to place one fearless kiss on the mouth of that new born river that has to run through the center of our hearts to find its way home.

But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back. There is no bruise like the bruise loneliness kicks into your spine.

Everyone’s chest is a living room wall with awkwardly placed photographs hiding fist-shaped holes.

Your ignorance keeps dismembering every piece of patience I have left.

I know you think this world is too dark to even dream in color, but I’ve seen flowers bloom at midnight. I’ve seen kites fly in gray skies and they were real close to looking like the sunrise, and sometime it takes the most wounded wings the most broken things to notice how strong the breeze is, how precious the flight.