I love you – like a lighthouse and the sea, like mountaintops and valleys, like how the sun breathes life into leaves without even touching.
JESSICA WILDEWhen winter withers – my bones begin to thaw, my lungs crackle as they expand, and the blood in my veins start to flow and I awaken from hibernation – hungry for happiness and eager to let go.
More Jessica Wilde Quotes
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I 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.
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And the world seems just a little bit warmer, and the sun shines slightly brighter than it used to, and the days pass differently than before, and time is no longer stuck in a loop.
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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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I learned all about love from people that didn’t know how to love me.
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My mind is not my own. I don’t recognize her when I am alone.
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Those closest to me. Didn’t know the true state of my mentality.
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When winter withers – my bones begin to thaw, my lungs crackle as they expand, and the blood in my veins start to flow and I awaken from hibernation – hungry for happiness and eager to let go.
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A wooded winter trail awaits, no footprints pressed upon the snow – a path I dared not once to take but now – I must go.
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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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You hold a piece of me I will never get back. Be even tender.
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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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Cider and candor and cranberry kisses, firelight dancing – lowered inhibitions, our eyes caught up in intimate moments, soaking in these cinnamon-spiced secrets.
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You were refreshing. Your idea of love infused me with hope and joy.
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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.
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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.
JESSICA WILDE