If you were a mermaid, you said, If you were a mermaid, I was the sea.

Beauty loved him more than anything, her Beast boy, but, secretly, sometimes, she wished he would have remained a Beast.

Choose to believe in your own myth your own glamour your own spell a young woman who does this (even if she is just pretending) has everything.

Welcome Beauty, banish fear.

Maybe her own tears were the poison that made her grow.

Flowers are reincarnation. They come out of the earth of our ashes. Nothing else looks so soul-like.

Pianos, unlike people, sing when you give them your every growl. They know how to dive into the pit of your stomach and harmonize with your roars when you’ve split yourself open. And when they see you, guts shining, brain pulsing, heart right there exposed in a rhythm that beats need need, need need, need need, pianos do not run. And so she plays.