Cider and candor and cranberry kisses, firelight dancing – lowered inhibitions, our eyes caught up in intimate moments, soaking in these cinnamon-spiced secrets.
JESSICA WILDEWhen rules don’t make sense, ask questions, break barriers, rise above it all.
More Jessica Wilde Quotes
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Expanding like the universe, I discovered galaxies within. To break glass ceilings: Breath in trust, exhale doubt-beckon bravery.
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Lavender lullabies whispered into night skies, remnants of galaxies cradled closely, as you sleep sweetly, time slips away and so do I.
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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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Today, cold seeps from my insides out, the frigid rain warm on my skin.
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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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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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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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Misty morning welcomes me as I wander through the trees – calm amidst the chaos of distant memories.
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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 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 am swept beneath your current – it pulls me in, and I don’t even try to swim.
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Here I am again, chasing shadows, as if I’m peter pan convincing Wendy not to grow up – I’m waiting for you in the between place. Dreaming and never quite awake.
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What do you do, when all the loves you’ve ever known have only been paper moons?
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My mind is not my own. I don’t recognize her when I am alone.
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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