Needle in a haystack, a small town on a roadmap, searching for you through the abstract- how incredibly hard to find.
HANNAH PEARLThe autumn breeze carves out an ache in your memory.
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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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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You are worthy of feeling incredibly and unapologetically alive.
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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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Your words once a melody, now read like an obituary.
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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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I’m used to falling, calling out timber right before the impact.
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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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Your voice causes a power surge that courses through the veins, feeds off bones, minors in replay.
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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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Love is believable. I reckon I’ll just see it when I see it.
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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 haven’t wept for days, only shuffling feet, carrying weights, ignoring the pain, numbing the face. Its all a charade.
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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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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 miss you a little less each day. You’re just a faded memory now – delicate; tucked away.
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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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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.
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The autumn breeze carves out an ache in your memory.
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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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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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If y’all like spooky season just examine my brain. It’s plastered across this page on display.
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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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Your promises shatter like glass. Sliced nerves for every lie that travels from your tongue.
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