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.
SCHUYLERI don’t want to be a saint, I want a love I don’t fight alone to keep.
More Schuyler Quotes
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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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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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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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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 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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There will be a time where this hurts less and it will not mean it didn’t matter. It means that in the face of feeling something precious slip in my hands, I will always find a way back to myself.
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I still know the fabric of where I begin and end.
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I know I could be an astronomer of this swooning.
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I’m writing about moving again, and when I write about moving, I really mean beginning. I’m beginning again.
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In a dream, I’m holding you close and when I wake, I do. How lucky, to want and have.
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Your anger, your sorrow, your fear, are okay to feel through, no matter how big it feels now.
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I never lose pieces of me, I just gain new understanding.
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Meet me where happiness doesn’t feel like a false spring.
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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.
SCHUYLER