You, a God I worshipped Your word was music to my ears Rose-tinted glasses: verdict You confirmed all my worst fears.
ALETHEIA LIOLAEndless consumption will not make you feel whole suffer, stained items are not good for the soul.
More Aletheia Liola Quotes
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Only after you have fallen to the pits of despair, can you fly to the horizon of hope.
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You can find beauty in the darkest of places. Be the light, my love. Bring smiles to their faces.
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We shined a light through our flaws to our internalistic plea. Emphasized the healing that shall set our lost souls free. We were a brief reflection of what we should not be.
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I can feel her resurrecting. The one he thought he had killed. Strength realised in her resting. It was worth all the blood spilled.
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All my trauma grown to thorns, he overlooked it all. Perhaps they caused him to bleed in ways I can’t recall.
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Endless consumption will not make you feel whole suffer, stained items are not good for the soul.
ALETHEIA LIOLA -
He always preferred the way my eyes looked after they had cried. I wish he knew how fine they looked once he had said goodbye.
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Clutching a burning match, he said “look, and she’ll explode”. Ignored the gas he poured; his match caused my implode.
ALETHEIA LIOLA -
The child within; raised voice; fast heart; flinches. Flight response, with an attitude and broken hinges. The child within; tiptoes; eggshells. Heaven; hell. Still, she finds a quiet place, safe and tranquil; dwell.
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Trust is an illusion. A systematically flawed word. A total forgery of a statement. Trust assumes infallibility – without errors, mistakes, or fuck ups.
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My core; shook and rumbled. My being; awakened, humbled. My psyche; aligned, revives. My flesh; survived and thrives. This moment. The presence. A gift. Breathe. Smile. Be happy. Exist. Exhale. Relax. Surrender. Inspire. Inhale. Trust. Love. Respire.
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On my worst days, I give the devil hell. On my best day, I hold a light for God to dwell.
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How many wounds can you convert to wisdom? How much pain to power can you permute and fathom? This is your story; rewrite how it’s written.
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My bloody hands that hold on to faith. Learned that we grow with pain and not age.
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I compare myself to the leaves; dead, yet dancing in the breeze. Is it meant to hurt this much, falling from the trees?
ALETHEIA LIOLA







