You were refreshing. Your idea of love infused me with hope and joy.
JESSICA WILDEI simply cannot hold onto hope, it aches like possibilities never reached, I’m bubbling over with grief – this chaos has caused so much loss and fatigue.
More Jessica Wilde Quotes
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Lost journals are steps back home, like the mending of broken bones, like scars that act as patches to my soul, like the measurement marks on my mother’s wall that show just how much I’ve grown.
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Your laughter sounds like a galactic symphony, your eyes shine magic like Saturn’s rings, and your golden hair flares like the sun. I smile as I rock the universe to sleep and sing of stars that twinkle deep within your dreams.
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Wouldn’t it be enchanting if pixie dust and fairy wings could fix all our broken dreams?
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You hold a piece of me I will never get back. Be even tender.
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Loving you is like breathing in freshly fallen snow-baptized mornings.
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Those closest to me. Didn’t know the true state of my mentality.
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I am swept beneath your current – it pulls me in, and I don’t even try to swim.
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You break everything you touch. Why was I surprised when you broke me too?
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I’m half agony, half hope – like I’m a freshly cut bone, like the last stone that was held – then not thrown, like a garden where inspiration roots but never grows.
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Fireside and free, tangled up in curiosity, dripping in holy honesty, drawing in pure ecstasy, exploring possibilities – a cabin in the woods.
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Misty morning welcomes me as I wander through the trees – calm amidst the chaos of distant memories.
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The sea calls to me – she promises to set me free, it’s tempting- losing myself in her vastness allowing her to swallow me whole, beckoning me to make her deep darkness my forever home.
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When rules don’t make sense, ask questions, break barriers, rise above it all.
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I am fierce yet fragile – cradle me with care, I can shred your soul, light you on fire, or send you into the dark abyss – the difference between us is – I wouldn’t dare.
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Time aches- my words break as if they’re the wings of a captured butterfly as if they’re the seconds that keep ticking by as if they’re embers that refuse to ignite.
JESSICA WILDE