I hope to arrive at my death, late, in love, and a little drunk.
~ Atticus Poetry
I worry there is something broken in our generation,there are too many sad eyes on happy faces.
We are made of all those who have built and broken us.
Brushing a girl’s hair behind her earonce a daywill solve more problemsthan all thosetherapists and drugs.
She was afraid of heightsbut she was much more afraid of never flying.
Depression is being colorblind and constantly told how colorful the world is.
From the moment I saw her I knew this onewas worththebroken heart.
Our songslive longer thanour kingdoms.
I will follow you, my love, to the edge of all our days,to our very last tomorrows.
We humans are so tortured by not properly guessing what will make us happy.
That was her magic— she could still see the sunseteven on those darkest days.
Art takes time—Monet grew his gardensbefore he painted them.
We are all born free and spend a lifetime becoming slaves to our own false truths.
There will alwaysa glimmer in thosewho have been through the dark.
True artcomes from flying with the madnessso close you burn your eyelashes.
Put a girl in moonlightand tell only truthsand every man becomes a poet.
She sat in her perfect house, with her perfect husband, wishing that her perfect life would end.
And the stars blinked as they watched her carefully jealous of the way she shone.
We were strange in loveher and I too wild to last too rare to die.
Sometimes I want a quiet lifeother timesI want to go a little bit fucking Gatsby.
Drugs to mehave always beena pretty girl with a sly smilebeckoning mewith a finger down the dark path of a fork in the road.
She found herselfover a long and treacherous roadand the more treacherous the road became,the more of herselfshe found.
She was too busy wishing on shooting stars, to see the dreams come true around her.
What a strange world. We trade our days for things.
Don't worry— you see, to some you are magic.
You and I will be lost and found a thousand times along this cobbled road of us.
One day I’ll paint the perfect sunset-- if I can only find the words.
A few drinks and the world was hers— she wore her whiskey like a loaded gun.
Don't ask her to be a rock for you to lean uponinstead, build her wingsand point her to the skyand she will teach you both to fly.
I LIVE MY LIFESO HAPPILY IN CRAZY WITH HER.
She was cool— the whole world seemed to spin around her in smooth jazz.
Poetry, is a life long war wagedagainst ineffable beauty.
There is nothing prettier in thewhole wide world than a girlin lovewith every breath she takes.
I think it’s beautifulthe way you sparkle when you talk about the things you love.
She had just enough madness to make her interesting
Watch carefully the magic that occurswhen you give a person enough comfort to just be themselves.
Love her but leave her wild
It was her chaos that made her beautiful.
I aspire to be an old man with an old wife laughing at old jokes from a wild youth.
A sky full of starsand he was staring at her. —ATTICUS
