Leave me like you mean it. My heart can’t keep waiting for you.
EMILY KURCI laugh and I cry and I reason on until the late night, but I never feel the urge to call you. The person that I once knew is forever frozen in time.
More Emily Kurc Quotes
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When the leaves begin to fall, I find myself returning to old playlists in hopes that I can feel you holding my hand, or kissing me goodnight, or hear you singing my name into songs and blueing when it makes no sense.
EMILY KURC -
Spill yourself onto the page with ink and a half healed heart and watch the words blossom.
EMILY KURC -
Men like you were never meant for storms like us.
EMILY KURC -
We all show our true colors eventually – mine is dark and firesome red. I bet I burned you. I don’t expect to see you soon.
EMILY KURC -
I don’t love you anymore. But each time you begin to fade it makes my heart feel numb.
EMILY KURC -
I like to think of myself as the sun, but it gets really lonely all the way out here especially when everything I try to touch burns.
EMILY KURC -
When I look at you, I see the moon – I wish you could see that you’re every poets muse.
EMILY KURC -
He grabbed my hand as the flames licked at my feet and the devil and I danced.
EMILY KURC -
I think I’ll always remember your birthday and the way you took your coffee because they’ll forever be pieces of you I cannot burn.
EMILY KURC -
I am still weighed down by unspeakable heaviness- It follows like shadow currents.
EMILY KURC -
I bet my words are still tangled beneath that streetlight fighting for the right combination to stay.
EMILY KURC -
I no longer wear my heart on my sleeve. Instead, I keep this love folded up, like a tiny paper plane, until my heart is ready to soar again.
EMILY KURC -
Be here with me tonight, and lets sing the saddest moon song there ever was.
EMILY KURC -
There were still embers scattered around me from the bridges I have burned. I wonder if they can feel it too. The space between us lingering like a scarlet letter, I’m learning how to love again.
EMILY KURC -
I miss the sweat of september and the stickiness of the sheets.
EMILY KURC