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 PEARLWhat 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.
More Hannah Pearl Quotes
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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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Don’t bother finding a soulmate. Your aunt tells you, your fluffy scrambled eggs are the best she’s had and dammit, you can enjoy those all by yourself. No need to share the wealth.
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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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When 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.
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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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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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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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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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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.
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The moon may bring peace, but the sun, she offers resilience.
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You are worthy of feeling incredibly and unapologetically alive.
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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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Caution! This vehicle stops quite frequently when overwhelmed.
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Your promises shatter like glass. Sliced nerves for every lie that travels from your tongue.
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You have always been enough. Allow yourself to finally feel it.
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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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You will be the ocean. Strong enough to tighten the sails and safe enough to jump ship for.
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Your words once a melody, now read like an obituary.
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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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Your voice causes a power surge that courses through the veins, feeds off bones, minors in replay.
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Love is believable. I reckon I’ll just see it when I see it.
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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.
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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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I’m used to falling, calling out timber right before the impact.
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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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The autumn breeze carves out an ache in your memory.
HANNAH PEARL