The brittle seeds remained inside my soul, my tears the water that begged them to grow. And though I hate to admit it, you are my sun. Your light and warmth the last variables needed to see the seedlings burst and anchor. The roots in my soul, the flower and fruit in yours.

— Hubert Martin

The flicker, the flutter, even thoughts can stutter.

— Hubert Martin

The scribbles in my notebook are a reflection of you. Every line holds your name. Every paragraph a feature of yours I love. Each page is a memory of moments that took my breath away. Of times when I laughed more than my lungs would allow. My notebook is full, but I always knew only one would hardly contain all of you.

— Hubert Martin

These places I traveled through, they were a lot like the people I knew. Some abodes I muddled about for a day or two, others entertained my thoughts for a year or a few. Each place and person gave me wisdom or growth, and, if I was lucky, sometimes I'd get both.

— Hubert Martin

The storm only grew stronger. Walls of facets became flooded with cracks, the tumultuous gale escaped through the smallest crevice. With her arms spread wide and all her muscles hard and taunt, she broke free from the chrysalis, letting lose her new wings and that mighty storm. I thought it was over, but I was wrong. She spread her wings and sang her song. She rode upon the howl of wind until she was gone.

— Hubert Martin

They flew to avoid the horrors of land and sea, Daedalus and Icarus were for few moments free. Though the sun was Icarus' ultimate bane, we came to always remember his name. For he felt the sun's burn, a lesson Daedalus would never learn. When he found his son's corpse and looked upon his face, he saw a smile there fastened in place. He continued his life wondering what his son had seen, hoping it was worth it since his dead smile was so serene. The sun always seemed to mock him after, shining, brilliant, blinding laughter. Daedalus grew withered and haunted by light, preferring the sea's air in the depths of night. He watched lunar birds soar through the stars and away, forever regretting his decision to take flight during the day. He had lost his son to the sun in a twist of anomaly, he wondered which of them truly escaped that day, in all honesty.

— Hubert Martin

They surrounded me, bare me. Their fingers like tentacles and their desires like knives. Their fingers traced my secrets and their desires carved my skin.

— Hubert Martin

Though I exist in the realms of day and night, I'm only truly alive in the moments between.

— Hubert Martin

We are the living whole of the fragments from the things we've experienced and people we've encountered. Each interaction changes us in a subtle or massive way. The masterpiece we are sheds it's weathered skin, becoming even more than it was before.

— Hubert Martin

What do you do when your words aren't enough? What do you do when your actions have no effect? What do you do when all the fibers of your existence scream just to be heard? And yet, only the most deafening silence returns the echoes of your screams. Is there something beyond words and action?

— Hubert Martin