Spill yourself onto the page with ink and a half healed heart and watch the words blossom.
EMILY KURCWhen the leaves begin to fall, I find myself returning to old playlists in hopes that I can feel you holding my hand, or kissing me goodnight, or hear you singing my name into songs and blueing when it makes no sense.
More Emily Kurc Quotes
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When the leaves begin to fall, I find myself returning to old playlists in hopes that I can feel you holding my hand, or kissing me goodnight, or hear you singing my name into songs and blueing when it makes no sense.
EMILY KURC -
I think I’ll always remember your birthday and the way you took your coffee because they’ll forever be pieces of you I cannot burn.
EMILY KURC -
You don’t deserve my poetry. I hate that I give you that satisfaction still.
EMILY KURC -
I bet my words are still tangled beneath that streetlight fighting for the right combination to stay.
EMILY KURC -
I woke up this morning and for once, I had no desire to drink my morning coffee. Is that how it felt for you to wake up and never return?
EMILY KURC -
In a dream like haze, the moment you left still spins on repeat like a broken record.
EMILY KURC -
Be here with me tonight, and lets sing the saddest moon song there ever was.
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 -
I hope you think of me during every thunderstorm.
EMILY KURC -
I taught you how to love so you could get it right with someone else.
EMILY KURC -
The sky was crying so I wiped away her tears, just like all the times she did the same me.
EMILY KURC -
Do ghosts get tired of haunting? Of chasing old flames in darkness, of walking through dreams casting shadows against walls, against hearts, do they feel themselves forgotten?
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 -
Each time I fall back in love with myself, I leave my pen and paper behind. It isn’t personal, or maybe it is. I just a always thought that poetry was for the hurting.
EMILY KURC -
He grabbed my hand as the flames licked at my feet and the devil and I danced.
EMILY KURC