I came to
pen another poem for you,
but even every unwritten poem
is you.

The reason as to why a human cannot give birth to himself is because he needs someone to help him. We are altricial, or helpless at birth, because we have to depend on others so that later in life when we are capable, we help those in need. And this is very much part of the circle of life.

Name and form are simply illusions of separation. Love doesn’t make us blind; rather, it erases the illusions so we can see clearly.

My dear, if heaven is truly a place, then it is situated in your heart, that special place, that was reserved for me.

It is not until you rhyme with a person that makes you their perfect match, it is when you are satisfied with each others peculiarities, and find jewels in their loopholes.

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