Each and every bad seed counts, for even if they don’t survive or grow too beautifully, a bad seed allows you to re-evalutate the others and appreciate them even more.
ZUZANNA SZOSTAKI believed less is what I needed, what I tried to achieve; I thought less is more, better, the minimalistic beauty of life.
More Zuzanna Szostak Quotes
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Would you want to breathe if you were to ask for oxygen? Would you want to drink if you were to beg for a glass of water? would you want to eat if you were to pray for a plate of food? Well, I wouldn’t.
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I’m dehydrated, lacking the water you pour into me every time we drown in each other’s navy blue oceans.
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From time to time, I would like to cut off all the strings and lines that conclude that ridiculous puppet show they call life.
ZUZANNA SZOSTAK -
Would you want to breathe if you were to ask for oxygen? Would you want to drink if you were to beg for a glass of water? would you want to eat if you were to pray for a plate of food? Well, I wouldn’t.
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I cried today and I cried yesterday, Salty tears rushing down. My face fastened breaths, palms in sweat and the unbearable guilt of my being.
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Blissful comfort of pain and sorrow ravishes my rationality and drinks up my hope, for even thee whom I romanticize so deeply leaves me in a pool of intrusive thoughts telling me no matter what I say or do even the mirror despises you.
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I can truly see myself in that light, the green iris of my eye like a jungle, full of life. And when snow covers the green, and my skin looses its color I crave that wilderness in my eye.
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Sometimes you don’t miss the place, the time but the state of mind.
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For the most important type of love is love for oneself and only you can hear all of your beautiful verses that never got to see the light of the day.
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Even on the darkest days the sun still rises.
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I can truly see myself in that light, the green iris of my eye like a jungle, full of life. And when snow covers the green, and my skin looses its color I crave that wilderness in my eye.
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Oh, how I wish you were here bathing in the silky sheets of my dreams, your lips on mine a flame and wine smoke in the air clouds filled with thoughts oh, how I long for your skin and touch.
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A feeling deliciously bitter lingers on my tongue. It’s sharp relish urges me to keep my mouth shut and my conscience clear. Though how can one act so when one’s veins are stuffed with what’s not said before?
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Carrying the weight of my mistakes I burst into flames that hurt my skin.
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When the grass turns brown nobody seems to care. It’s just temporary, they say yet I can feel it will stay and stay.
ZUZANNA SZOSTAK