I’ll craft a haven that that cradles every joy and sorrow, but doesn’t hold them to keep.
SCHUYLERYes, this life is mine, but more often I watch it take place and my hands feel too far away to touch it.
More Schuyler Quotes
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Meet me where happiness doesn’t feel like a false spring.
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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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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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I’d get lost in this green, ferns leaning against the trees, soil stuck to my feet, never dream of finding my way back again.
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I don’t want to be a saint, I want a love I don’t fight alone to keep.
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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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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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I’m remembering again, how loneliness has always made me brave.
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I sit on the bare floor, leave my palms unturned, and watch relief pool into one hand, and uncertainty in the next. I will try not to lean more one way or another, but let them hold each other as company.
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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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Change is not a four letter curse word I once believed it to be.
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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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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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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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