When your heart is broken, you plant seeds in the cracks and pray for rain.
To think, a sweater, is made entirely of knots. My stomach could clothe a village.
None of us are pretty, but our ugly has an alibi.
You are not weak just because your heart feels so empty.
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.