You see, the deaf have an intimacy with silence. It’s there in their dreams.

What I said was I’ll miss you what I meant to say was I love you what I wanted to say was that I meant what I said and it’s funny how all those things I could have said flooded my head after we said goodbye and I should have told you I’d be willing to hold you until my flesh crumbles into bone because I’m willing to die alone but god knows I don’t want to live that way.

I sit before flowers 
hoping they will train me in the art 
of opening up

Look directly into every mirror. Realize our reflection is the first sentence to a story, and our story starts: We were here.

Scrape the grey sky clean, realize that every dark cloud is a smokescreen meant to blind us from the truth

I accept that today may be imperfect... I accept that I may be as well. What I don't accept is that imperfection should be the crutch I use to excuse myself from participating in joy.

If you think for one second no one knows what you've been going through; be accepting of the fact that you are wrong, that the long drawn and heavy breaths of despair have at times been felt by everyone - that pain is part of the human condition and that alone makes you a legion.