Christopher Poindexter

She writes things with her movements that I for the life of me could never write with a pen.

she lived with hurricane eyes and fell in love with the way the waves collapsed against her cheeks.

Sometimes I sit alone under the stars and think of the galaxies inside my heart and truly wonder if anyone will ever want to make sense of all that I am

And in the end, we were all just humans.. drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.

It was rather beautiful: the way he put her insecurities to sleep. The way he dove into her eyes and starved all the fears and tasted all the dreams she kept coiled beneath her bones.

Not only didI love her,but I could tellthe universe lovedher, too.More than others.She was different.After all; I wouldbe a fool not tonotice the way thesunshine played withher hair.