I had no idea you were so sure. If had then I would've acted much dumber.

Is it nostalgia or is it the last moment in which you truly loved yourself?

Have you ever lost an idea and wished you had forgotten it instead?

You are my muse;

You are to me

I know how to sit with my thoughts. I know how to sit with yours, too, all the ones you gave me. I toss them up at the ceiling; they bounce off the walls. Some break through the glass window and roll down the hill into the ravine, looking at all the places we've been. —The Thoughtful Fish

I'm addicted to writing

I've been wondering where you are, or is that too far? Fine, I won't drive your car or ask you to show your scar. Instead, I'll give you this word salad; I hope it suits your palate. The leaves tossed my thoughts, and gosh, I've lost my ballot! Now I can't cast my vote or even care to carry this large tote of all that's mine or yours, or things I never wore. Scars I never tore. What a bore! Some old tour of broken bones we might as well ignore… —The Thoughtful Fish

The smoke from chicken wings on the balcony grill is flooding my mouth. The sunset is trying to match the color of the purply-pink flowers dangling off the balcony. Cars are all quite large if you look at them. Ryan just drove past me in his silver Toyota. He waves. I wonder how she got up there. The purple? She was talking to the green trees, and then they introduced her to the blue sky, and, well, the sky introduced her to the clouds. And when the sun came over for wine and

I love the taste of silence.

Life in the box. The stakes are so high, and yet they don't exist. Maybe you'll die? Or maybe you'll die...

I used to think, "It's not so simple..." Let's make it complicated then. Turns out it is so simple after all... I just didn't know how to let it be. Set me free. Let me sit with trees.

If I lost my mind, would you pick it up for me and place it somewhere nice where I would find it again? Like next to my favorite tree. You know, the big one next to the river.

We came here, to the box, to feel something. But

The breeze in your face that's all you're looking for.

A piece of art isn't finished until it's seen.

I think I just realized drawing is like writing: you don't have to know where you're going. You just start, and it takes you somewhere unexpected.

Most people aren't looking for love. They're looking for a drug. They call it "love." —The Thoughtful Fish

You dance with me,

I've been dying.