My god is a moment, a whimsical idea, a whisper. A hope bending itself into a prayer.
HANNAH PEARLI wait and wait and wait and god I am sick of waiting. To not see your face anymore. To not know the burden that belongs to you. To not imagine the window I looked through the night I found out.
More Hannah Pearl Quotes
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It’s time for me to dust off this weary heart so that I may open it to one whose only open to me. You’re going to miss me when I’m gone and it’ll be too late.
HANNAH PEARL -
I wait and wait and wait and god I am sick of waiting. To not see your face anymore. To not know the burden that belongs to you. To not imagine the window I looked through the night I found out.
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Indigo child, you hid secret under graves, picked at the lamb stuck between teeth, felt around for monsters we once reaped. But the monster turned out to be free.
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Remember me in burnt coffee mornings, warm hugs, fresh sunday snow. Know that you loved me too cautiously.
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You are worthy of feeling incredibly and unapologetically alive.
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It wasn’t enough fading under surfaces, below waves, swollen pufferfish retracting this inflated love that not even you could believe in.
HANNAH PEARL -
Your promises shatter like glass. Sliced nerves for every lie that travels from your tongue.
HANNAH PEARL -
Caution! This vehicle stops quite frequently when overwhelmed.
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What an intimidating kind of beauty a rainbow holds. Then of course, there’s the jealously dripping between vampirish teeth of those who dare mock it.
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If I’m wrong about you, let’s face it instead of fading like tire marks swallowed by rain. Run me into the midst of a storm. Leave me to drown there.
HANNAH PEARL -
Your voice causes a power surge that courses through the veins, feeds off bones, minors in replay.
HANNAH PEARL -
I am hurting. I am angry. I am one hundred and thirty-two synonyms of regret, but atleast its proof that I was here.
HANNAH PEARL -
Your words once a melody, now read like an obituary.
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What a shame – how the taste of you could rot even the cedar and cypress. How you fooled the redwood into believing narcissus’ pond was made for two.
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Some days, my mind still flickers, but the light doesn’t stay on. Kind of like the hope I felt when your fingers squeezed my palm. But they simply call that a reflex.
HANNAH PEARL