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.
HANNAH PEARLWhen words tripped off the side of your grin, I felt the statement slip toward my ear like the slide of a skateboard on griptape – how it led me to hate a sport I’ve never even tried.
More Hannah Pearl Quotes
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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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I’m used to falling, calling out timber right before the impact.
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I’m from a state that houses too many cornfields and a town that no one takes seriously- in a home where glass cuts hurt less than deeply wounded words.
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I’ve been afraid to look at the woman in the mirror. Everyday she looks less and less like me. It makes me wonder if I’ll ever find my way back home.
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There’s a mystery in you; a puzzle to solve- mystical elements to a love that you’ve longingly ached for.
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My god is a moment, a whimsical idea, a whisper. A hope bending itself into a prayer.
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Needle in a haystack, a small town on a roadmap, searching for you through the abstract- how incredibly hard to find.
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Love is believable. I reckon I’ll just see it when I see it.
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If y’all like spooky season just examine my brain. It’s plastered across this page on display.
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If I had a wishing well, I’d wish you well. That the skies hold the key to all you’ve ever wanted, with or without me.
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The hardest part is when the leaves abandon the trees. I seem to always lose a part of me.
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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.
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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.
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I miss you a little less each day. You’re just a faded memory now – delicate; tucked away.
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Surely I could never be certain of how many stars I’ve counted in the sky or of how such tiny particles can be build into wild-eyed stories like Aquarius and Cassiopeia. I could read you as I would the constellations and never tire.
HANNAH PEARL