I learned all about love from people that didn’t know how to love me.
JESSICA WILDEUnderneath the stars, the weight of living dissolves – releases, breathes, be.
More Jessica Wilde Quotes
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I am fierce yet fragile – cradle me with care, I can shred your soul, light you on fire, or send you into the dark abyss – the difference between us is – I wouldn’t dare.
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What do you do, when all the loves you’ve ever known have only been paper moons?
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A wooded winter trail awaits, no footprints pressed upon the snow – a path I dared not once to take but now – I must go.
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Cider and candor and cranberry kisses, firelight dancing – lowered inhibitions, our eyes caught up in intimate moments, soaking in these cinnamon-spiced secrets.
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Expanding like the universe, I discovered galaxies within. To break glass ceilings: Breath in trust, exhale doubt-beckon bravery.
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I know I haven’t told you, but I also know, that you’ve felt my love.
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My mind is not my own. I don’t recognize her when I am alone.
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I love you – like a lighthouse and the sea, like mountaintops and valleys, like how the sun breathes life into leaves without even touching.
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I simply cannot hold onto hope, it aches like possibilities never reached, I’m bubbling over with grief – this chaos has caused so much loss and fatigue.
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You break everything you touch. Why was I surprised when you broke me too?
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Misty morning welcomes me as I wander through the trees – calm amidst the chaos of distant memories.
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Lost journals are steps back home, like the mending of broken bones, like scars that act as patches to my soul, like the measurement marks on my mother’s wall that show just how much I’ve grown.
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The sea calls to me – she promises to set me free, it’s tempting- losing myself in her vastness allowing her to swallow me whole, beckoning me to make her deep darkness my forever home.
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I chip and carve until I’m a corpse – a bone with no marrow, or a sparrow without wings, a vein without wings, a vein without blood, a puppet with no strings.
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I’m half agony, half hope – like I’m a freshly cut bone, like the last stone that was held – then not thrown, like a garden where inspiration roots but never grows.
JESSICA WILDE