— he was an artist and she was a poet. he turned every sonnet into beautiful artworks with gentle paintbrush strokes. and she became the inspiration for all his colors while crafting her sentences. being each other’s muses in the symphony of artistic expressions.

a celestial grief.

Before I die, I want to be somebody's favourite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.

do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly.

stop looking at me like that, with pity in your eyes. all i am to you is a tragedy, aren’t i?

never again will i be gentle. i will be bloodied knuckles and scuffed elbows. i will remain rough.

don’t forget about me.