Change is not a four letter curse word I once believed it to be.
SCHUYLERTake me back to the evergreen trees; to the sunlight through the leaves, the bending ferns and fronds. The pitter of the rain, the smooth rocks sleeping under moss. Take me back to the life I know before this body.
More Schuyler Quotes
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I descend into an unopened sky, the ocean floor, the final embrace of a graveyard. Find your fill of me before my blue pales like a sour moon.
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I never lose pieces of me, I just gain new understanding.
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I will still live like a ghost in the mornings; walking, listening, pouring coffee to finish sometime by the afternoon, when I’ve had enough of watching the world and do all I can to live in it.
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Yes, this life is mine, but more often I watch it take place and my hands feel too far away to touch it.
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I want to wade into the water on the sidewalk, crawl out of this feeling without giving it a name. Take a lighter to love’s sticky edges so its sadness isn’t caught in my throat.
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I’m thinking about how early the spring flower buds rise up from the grass; just barely on winter’s heels. How uncomfortable, how cold the soil must be, still half-frosted, when the roots start to take shape.
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Some mornings, I like to live like a secret; wake as quietly as I can, slip out of bed without so much as a wrinkle.
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I’ll craft a haven that that cradles every joy and sorrow, but doesn’t hold them to keep.
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This does not have to be a hard life to love. There is not enough time to let it stray too far from my hands.
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I’d get lost in this green, ferns leaning against the trees, soil stuck to my feet, never dream of finding my way back again.
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We’re in spring and I have learned how to be gentle and sharp; strong bark on budding trees. Hold out your hands. I’ll leave a pink kiss and a pocket knife.
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Take me back to the evergreen trees; to the sunlight through the leaves, the bending ferns and fronds. The pitter of the rain, the smooth rocks sleeping under moss. Take me back to the life I know before this body.
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People have been washed away by less. I’ll take every step gently. So often, you can’t tell the rush of a riptide until you’re already at sea.
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How radiant you are, waiting by the window, watching for the sun to grant you more time to dance beneath it. You’ve let yourself dream again. Even if its in bites, even if it’s in a different voice than it used to be.
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I’m choosing to believe things are getting better again. The give and take of joy, remembering a few days of ache does not mean forever.
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