Truth without love is brutality, and love without truth is hypocrisy.
When did loving yourself
become so rare, that it’s
revolutionary to do so?
My love, take these walls, these wars.
Dull my blades. I am tired of the hunt.
I’ve laid my only words at your feet. Open for me.
I want to know, be known. Want and be wanted.
There must be those among whom we can sit down and weep and still be counted as warriors.
He knew me in all the ways that truly mattered: the shape of my fears, the contours of my dreams.