typewriter

I am grateful for the white sheet - all my stories are his.

This typewriter is the only one that has listened to me throughout the years, the only one who wants to know the girl beneath my layers.

On that piece of white paper, Sam wrote, "Write about me sometime." And I typed back to her, standing right there in her bedroom. I just typed. "I will."And I felt good that those were the first two words that I ever typed on my new old typewriter that Sam gave me. We just sat there quiet for a moment, and she smiled. And I moved to the typewriter again, and I wrote something. "I love you too.

So many people spend years (and money) studying to be doctors, lawyers, actors, dancers, business executives and scientists - when you're an author, you can be any of these things, and you don't need a degree or certificate; all you need is an imagination, a dream and an open mind.

Tapping While Peeling, Back These Masks Stained With Stars_This Ashtrays My Heart, Colored In Filters Sucked Dry From The High, The Lipsticked & Famous, The Lovers The Haters, The Bent Or Those Who Live In The Cage_With Vision Sealed Tight Denying All Light...Left Only With Assumption From A Judge In Sleep State...

She had the power to change the world but she couldn't save the one she loved.

I wrote her story because she wanted to live forever and I loved her far more with every word, too much! Even in death her life sought out beauty, for her moments were consumed with love and I could never write such a story without her stars flaming in my heart.

Magic is when you live your life the way you didn__ picture it and leave nothing behind.

Your greatest dreams will always slumber within the vicious depths of fear.

The seed of our love will always cube within the wonder of infinite.

The chaos in me is the chaos in you. Like the love in you is the love in me. So maybe we__e both a little crazy. Enough to believe we__e found where dreams are born and beneath our faults remain a science, where you and I will run away and leave nothing behind.

She got inside me with her story. I could feel her flowing in me and far, faraway I related in parallel. Her smile was a reflection of my own brokenness. It defined buried feelings that I could never ignore.

To be human is to be broken and broken is its own kind of beautiful.

Maybe one day we__l find that place, where you and I could be together and we__l catch our dreams within the waves of change. So hear me, you are not alone.

Every broken piece of me fell on every broken piece of you and when I took the missing parts, like the emptiness of me I saw the emptiness of you and I poured my half upon you to fill you whole. I risked it all just to dream you complete and catch you one day free in the wild.

The fear of loving a dog, is knowing one day they__l be gone and you could never find eyes that express all that you feel.

Maybe all that we are is what people expect us to be.

Sometimes those we love break us to bind us whole within the transition.