Caution! This vehicle stops quite frequently when overwhelmed.
HANNAH PEARLIt’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.
More Hannah Pearl Quotes
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You will be the ocean. Strong enough to tighten the sails and safe enough to jump ship for.
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Love is believable. I reckon I’ll just see it when I see it.
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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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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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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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Your words once a melody, now read like an obituary.
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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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I’m used to falling, calling out timber right before the impact.
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You have always been enough. Allow yourself to finally feel it.
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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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It wasn’t enough fading under surfaces, below waves, swollen pufferfish retracting this inflated love that not even you could believe in.
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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 -
You ever stare at something so long the colors blend together? Even the most neutral tones take on a life of their own, fold themselves into shapes that morph into creatures – wolves and goblin.
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You are worthy of feeling incredibly and unapologetically alive.
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I am hurting. I am angry. I am one hundred and thirty-two synonyms of regret, but atleast its proof that I was here.
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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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I hide behind olive branches. So afraid of others knowing what lay beneath the broken rifle. The reality hitting the pavement like bullets that stem from war.
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The autumn breeze carves out an ache in your memory.
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Write me as if I were already a poem. Pen the stanzas as if storms and ships could birth something sacred. Color it a religious experience.
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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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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 haven’t wept for days, only shuffling feet, carrying weights, ignoring the pain, numbing the face. Its all a charade.
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And when I walk alone, I speak in deaf tones. I’m screaming and no one knows, no one knows. No one pays attention to where the sound goes.
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I waited, quietly listened, cupped my ear to your mouth, but silence echoed grievously in the absence of sound. It was only warm breath and then emptiness.
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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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The moon may bring peace, but the sun, she offers resilience.
HANNAH PEARL