My mother always told me that love is like a plant, but she never prepared me for the realization that too much love towards the wrong person can drown your heart until it rots.
EMILY KURCEach night I sit at my windowsill like a wolf howling to the moon, hoping that somewhere you feel me calling to you.
More Emily Kurc Quotes
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Spill yourself onto the page with ink and a half healed heart and watch the words blossom.
EMILY KURC -
I know I write too many love poems, and perhaps this is me admitting that the love inside me is still there somewhere, stagnant – but its a cruel addiction. I need a intervention.
EMILY KURC -
Occasionally, the sun is eclipsed by the body of a weeping human. Her tears make the soil harden and crust like the top of a burnt load of bread.
EMILY KURC -
Each night I sit at my windowsill like a wolf howling to the moon, hoping that somewhere you feel me calling to you.
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 thought time would heal my broken heart, but its been forever since I fell in love and I’m scared that you took pieces of me that can’t be replaced.
EMILY KURC -
A place where our stories are rewritten, and six degrees of separation no longer troubles us.
EMILY KURC -
There was a hesitation in your touch only time could see.
EMILY KURC -
A sea of jumbled emotions I had longed to live again, a feeling that no metaphor could match.
EMILY KURC -
I miss the sweat of september and the stickiness of the sheets.
EMILY KURC -
I hope you think of me during every thunderstorm.
EMILY KURC -
Soft and sweet and wrapped around your fingertips.
EMILY KURC -
I 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.
EMILY KURC -
You don’t deserve my poetry. I hate that I give you that satisfaction still.
EMILY KURC -
In a dream like haze, the moment you left still spins on repeat like a broken record.
EMILY KURC