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The stars are where we came from. They orchestrated our return to the place we can always come home: our ancient, timeless love.

Stephanie Briar

Related Topics

Home Love Ourselves Place Return Stars Time

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When I was a child, I used to fear monsters under the bed. I have since learned that most monsters are found within. And they are always worth fighting.
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How do you sleep soundly, knowing you traded roses for weeds?
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Stop accepting abstract noun love. Real love is always action verb.
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Light finds you just as I once did: an accident that is no accident.
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Standing in your power scares a lot of people. You become something formidable, intimating, and aspirational all at once.
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You could not keep me fed by throwing me bones and empty promises. I am ashamed to admit how much starving I did before I finally left.
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I am strong. My heart still hopes. My mind still dreams. My soul still craves pouring energy into everything that I love.
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The search for external sources is nothing compared to internal forces.
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The glint of mischief in your eyes is the flint in my matchstick. Striking; always this close to igniting.
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I would throw down roots with you if I ever had the chance. We’d grow strong in tender shoots, and bloom in burning hands.
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I pressed the dress to my nose, and found what was left of your ghost. It was then that I remembered how to cry.
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Our memories lurch to a reluctant halt in their funeral march, so I can pour salt over them one last time.
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The day I made peace with my pain was the day I was born again.
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I fall headlong into everything that lights me on fire. I know not of restraint. I was born to burn.
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Trauma has deep roots indeed, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t pull the weeds.
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Anxiety is living with an apple on your head and you imagine that everyone you know stands watching with a bow to shoot an arrow at it.
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