I hear your voice say my name and my soul melts slow, I’m a helpless mess.
JESSICA WILDELavender lullabies whispered into night skies, remnants of galaxies cradled closely, as you sleep sweetly, time slips away and so do I.
More Jessica Wilde Quotes
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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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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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You break everything you touch. Why was I surprised when you broke me too?
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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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Those closest to me. Didn’t know the true state of my mentality.
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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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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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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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Misty morning welcomes me as I wander through the trees – calm amidst the chaos of distant memories.
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Today, cold seeps from my insides out, the frigid rain warm on my skin.
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You hold a piece of me I will never get back. Be even tender.
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I love you – like a lighthouse and the sea, like mountaintops and valleys, like how the sun breathes life into leaves without even touching.
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I lace barbed wire around my heart, constrict it – pull tight, maybe the pain will make it feel alive, and I can pretend it didn’t already die.
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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