Dreams are far more than a goal conceived by minds. They are whispers and desires of hearts.

Every lover wants to be held through the joy and sorrow, through time and space.

Even when one passes they only move on to another place. Oh, My Love, he moved on but I still think of him daily, and I write of him daily. So, R.I.P, My Long Lost Love

She loved him so much that she drank from his poisonous love even though she knew it was lethal.

It is the poem of all corpses, all skeletons and even all of the ghosts who haunt the world’s lands.