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 PEARLI miss you a little less each day. You’re just a faded memory now – delicate; tucked away.
More Hannah Pearl Quotes
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Love is believable. I reckon I’ll just see it when I see it.
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The moon may bring peace, but the sun, she offers resilience.
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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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The autumn breeze carves out an ache in your memory.
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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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You will be the ocean. Strong enough to tighten the sails and safe enough to jump ship for.
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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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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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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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Caution! This vehicle stops quite frequently when overwhelmed.
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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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You are worthy of feeling incredibly and unapologetically alive.
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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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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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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’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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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’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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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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The hardest part is when the leaves abandon the trees. I seem to always lose a part of me.
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I wish I could bottle up this scent for winter days when it feels like this town will never see sun again.
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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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I miss you a little less each day. You’re just a faded memory now – delicate; tucked away.
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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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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 promises shatter like glass. Sliced nerves for every lie that travels from your tongue.
HANNAH PEARL