Change is not a four letter curse word I once believed it to be.
SCHUYLERMeet me where happiness doesn’t feel like a false spring.
More Schuyler Quotes
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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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Some mornings, I like to live like a secret; wake as quietly as I can, slip out of bed without so much as a wrinkle.
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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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I allow myself to be a weathervane; receive every feeling that greets the shore of 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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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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In a dream, my fingertips pulse. I’ll be patient in my blooming. In a dream, I let time pass through open hands.
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I know I could be an astronomer of this swooning.
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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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I want to wade into the water on the sidewalk, crawl out of this feeling without giving it a name. Take a lighter to love’s sticky edges so its sadness isn’t caught in my throat.
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I’m writing about moving again, and when I write about moving, I really mean beginning. I’m beginning again.
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The world will be loud again. I’ll notice the loneliness less.
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People have been washed away by less. I’ll take every step gently. So often, you can’t tell the rush of a riptide until you’re already at sea.
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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.
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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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