
Kings and queens are crowned not with gold but with grace.

If words could speak for themselves, would they tell us it aches to be used in such a way, without a care for the honest translation of meanings that live behind, only a sustenance for our insatiable hunger to appear righteous?

Did you ever notice how the greatest gifts always appear in the cloak of something broken?

Do we gain more understanding by claiming knowledge as some asset we own, or by softening the rigid walls of what we think is until reality melts in front of our eyes into something we can’t tame, only be enraptured by?

What in you is so bold to say you aren’t about to collide with a moment like that?

Do birds find their home within a certain latitude or altitude of the globe, or in the very act of their wings moving freely in the air?

When galaxies of cells under our skin lie in continuous darkness, yet never fail to exude supreme intelligence, why do we, then, lose ground under our feet when in front of our eyes falls temporary blackness?

What burns inside of you?

Third winter’s a charm