I didn't know someone could cry that much, I thought the tears would run out. They don't.

I give myself up to darkness; and wish I may never again be required to lift my head to the light.

I loved you at your worst, and you were always at your worst. Nothing could stop me. Not even you.

I loved you at your worst, and you were always at your worst. Nothing could stop me. Not even you.

Looking for happiness is a sure way to sadness, I think. You have to take each moment as it comes.

the path is lost, and I’ve become part of the wreckage − another meaningless casualty.

Emma is not a person; Emma is a place that you get stuck in; Emma is a pain that you cannot erase.

Pain whispersthrough silent wordsentombed in scarsshyly palpablein fleeting glimpsesbriefly allowed

Pain whispersthrough silent wordsentombed in scarsshyly palpablein fleeting glimpsesbriefly allowed

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

I don't cry. Unfortunately, I seem rather short of tears, so my sorrows have to stay inside me.

Mostly I have felt myself becoming a servant of sadness. I am still looking for the beauty in that.

Weeping willows remind me of summer. And sadness. I wonder if tissues are made out of their trunks.

Grief denied will surface in borrowed clothes, the mad, sad clothes of paranoia, fear or loneliness

Grief denied will surface in borrowed clothes, the mad, sad clothes of paranoia, fear or loneliness