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(I saw someone else shared some poetry, so why not) I met a man whose eyes were like the sea. Blue, and cold, and wrought with stormy froth; They pierced me through like oceans northerly, Or else they swallowed me in frightful wroth —   No — these are but of memory the pangs. In truth they were a dull and mottled blue, As sky upon a dreary day that hangs Above a down, all fog-encrusted through.   Nay still — they were not quite so drab as that. Does conscience make of memory the thrall? Did he (I must now ask), that man who sat Upon that chair, have eyes of blue… at all?  

I cut loose from yesterday’s quay,made the very storms my lee;I took up brand-new dice to choosethe gambler’s bliss is the art to lose.To fall again, I need new ground,old wounds clot, new scars must be foundEven stone might split and leaf,if tears bore force beyond belief.Darkness ends neither today nor tomorrow;one uprising of flame will rout its sorrow.Grief is life’s lone verity;still practise the smile’s small levity.Dreams are fragile, but still they stay,like roots that fight through stone and clay.The heart learns from every scarreading its fate on shattered starWhen nothing remains but sandthe soul keeps dealing its final hand

Love isn’t about how much time you spend together.It’s not about sitting in the same room or sharing the same bed.Real love is when someone believes in you.Sometimes we lose faith in ourselves. We don’t see any worth. We feel broken, tired, and too small to keep going. And in those moments, nothing really fills the emptiness inside.In those moments, what saves you is not advice, not big words just knowing there is one person who still trusts you, who still sees something in you even when you don’t.That’s the kind of love that gives you strength to stand again.That’s what makes all the difference.