I wish I could bottle up this scent for winter days when it feels like this town will never see sun again.
HANNAH PEARLI wish I could bottle up this scent for winter days when it feels like this town will never see sun again.
HANNAH PEARLI’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.
HANNAH PEARLDon’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.
HANNAH PEARLSurely 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 PEARLIf y’all like spooky season just examine my brain. It’s plastered across this page on display.
HANNAH PEARLThe hardest part is when the leaves abandon the trees. I seem to always lose a part of me.
HANNAH PEARLYou will be the ocean. Strong enough to tighten the sails and safe enough to jump ship for.
HANNAH PEARLNeedle in a haystack, a small town on a roadmap, searching for you through the abstract- how incredibly hard to find.
HANNAH PEARLRemember me in burnt coffee mornings, warm hugs, fresh sunday snow. Know that you loved me too cautiously.
HANNAH PEARLI am hurting. I am angry. I am one hundred and thirty-two synonyms of regret, but atleast its proof that I was here.
HANNAH PEARLYour voice causes a power surge that courses through the veins, feeds off bones, minors in replay.
HANNAH PEARLAnd 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.
HANNAH PEARLLove is believable. I reckon I’ll just see it when I see it.
HANNAH PEARLI 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.
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.
HANNAH PEARLI’m used to falling, calling out timber right before the impact.
HANNAH PEARL