"A man is but the product of his thoughts. What he thinks, he becomes."
"Missing you feels like a hand forced hard against my mouth; I scream your name until my lungs are dry and hoarse, and there is no air left within me. I can barely breathe but I love the way your syllables taste in the corners of my lips. You’re all ocean salt and vodka, burning me down from the inside. And I’m sorry I chocked on our love, retching until it was clear from my body; you made me feel so full, and I was scared of indulging in your sweetness. You see I am a mess, and I threw you out, hoping you would call me back, tell me I was your mess. But I am not an empty canvas, but a forest on fire."