I descend into an unopened sky, the ocean floor, the final embrace of a graveyard. Find your fill of me before my blue pales like a sour moon.
SCHUYLERSome mornings, I like to live like a secret; wake as quietly as I can, slip out of bed without so much as a wrinkle.
More Schuyler Quotes
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I never lose pieces of me, I just gain new understanding.
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In a dream, I’m holding you close and when I wake, I do. How lucky, to want and have.
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I will still live like a ghost in the mornings; walking, listening, pouring coffee to finish sometime by the afternoon, when I’ve had enough of watching the world and do all I can to live in it.
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Meet me where happiness doesn’t feel like a false spring.
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I’m thinking about how early the spring flower buds rise up from the grass; just barely on winter’s heels. How uncomfortable, how cold the soil must be, still half-frosted, when the roots start to take shape.
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Hold me here, where I feel less like a stranger to my own laughter. Where it’s easier to believe things happen for a reason or maybe, at least, out of a thousand winding roads my life might take, I will still find one that fits me.
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Yes, this life is mine, but more often I watch it take place and my hands feel too far away to touch it.
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How radiant you are, waiting by the window, watching for the sun to grant you more time to dance beneath it. You’ve let yourself dream again. Even if its in bites, even if it’s in a different voice than it used to be.
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There will be a time where this hurts less and it will not mean it didn’t matter. It means that in the face of feeling something precious slip in my hands, I will always find a way back to myself.
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This does not have to be a hard life to love. There is not enough time to let it stray too far from my hands.
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Take me back to the evergreen trees; to the sunlight through the leaves, the bending ferns and fronds. The pitter of the rain, the smooth rocks sleeping under moss. Take me back to the life I know before this body.
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We’re in spring and I have learned how to be gentle and sharp; strong bark on budding trees. Hold out your hands. I’ll leave a pink kiss and a pocket knife.
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If every feeling comes like a wave, I try to decide what kind of coastline I’ll become.
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Change is not a four letter curse word I once believed it to be.
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I’m writing about moving again, and when I write about moving, I really mean beginning. I’m beginning again.
SCHUYLER