I wanted to know every story behind the scars on her curves. I wanted to decipher the whispers hidden beneath her every breath. Furthermore, I wanted to unravel her with my hands.

— Hubert Martin

I was burdened with an ever-growing heart on the verge of decay. To save myself, I had to give many pieces of my love away. I hope I can give it all to someone, someday.

— Hubert Martin

I was lost in the moments I decided to keep. To be awake in a dreamless sleep. And in that place between dream and sleep, I planted some more things I would like to keep.

— Hubert Martin

I was the wings that kept her aloft, while the churning sea of reality nipped at her feet. I kept her from drowning, but I still felt bad, that her toes had to experience such dreadful cold.

— Hubert Martin

I wear my past around my shoulders as a fine, but worn, cloak. Don't be fooled by my cloak's appearance, I have a three-piece underneath.

— Hubert Martin

Just being around her made me feel better. She had an amber shade aura to her that filled any cracks and brokenness I hadn't yet fixed. I could be myself around her, knowing full well she held on as I let go.

— Hubert Martin

My body held on though I held snapped threads in my hands and patches of my flesh were missing entirely. I was proud of my little mess... all the mistakes, every scar and every tear, told a story of a life I was strong enough to bear. I wear a patch of pride upon my chest, showing all my self-glory of the good times and the rest.

— Hubert Martin

My heart may be bruised and scarred, bleeding slow drip-drip with every thump and every other thump-thump that widens unsealable wounds. My heart is the strongest part of me. It's survived everything I've thrown at it and much more than it should.

— Hubert Martin

My scars show you I've been strong enough to endure the trauma of the world. My heart has no scars, my heart hangs in tatters only visible to those who see with more than their eyes. And my soul, well, my soul comprises pristine shatter, held together only because each individual piece is falling apart. They fall apart the right way though, that's why I still play this facade of being one and whole.

— Hubert Martin

On these days, I've never felt so hollow. Recollecting the many pieces of me that were lost in past sub-lives. They were the minor characters of my novel life, the sub-plots to the whole story. On these days I was the binding that held the book together, I was not the words.

— Hubert Martin