Snow relies on branches much like I rely on love but snow knows how to let go and I know how much it hurts.
TERAZA FAULKNERIt’s those hands of time saving me when nothing else can.
More Teraza Faulkner Quotes
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A flower grows where it is planted but love grows everywhere.
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I am not scared of what I may find within the darkness of this forest line. But I do fear what the wild may find in me. I do fear that kind of vulnerability.
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I’ve painted stars around tears that I’ve cried. And now my pain is a galaxy and every star has a name and every name feels like pain and you’re every star.
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Dawn breaks and this heart breaks, too. Yet the sun continues to rise and this heart of mine knows only of the journey down, like an eclipse of the heart.
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I’ve been that children, learning to walk. Somedays I’ve fallen, and some days I’ve crawled. But the steps, they grew. And so did my strength. And then I let go of your hand.
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Morning mist like a blanket to dawn, obscures the hope of a new day. Yet the sunrises high, and the blanket falls and hope returns to the stage.
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Where the heart feels torn is where the blood rushes most and that’s where all the roads meet.
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If truth be known it is not all about rainbows sometimes eyes of melancholic skies still shine they still find light and color despite the sky.
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Like a flower, that hides from the sun and discovers it still grows and blooms, I am learning that I too, can survive the dark, without you.
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I am caught between the meadow and the sky knowing I can walk long distances, but believing there’s something greater than where my feet can take me.
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We choose our gardens based on what will bloom, and we wait out the seasons, until they do. And sometimes, love needs patience too.
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Words are weighted messengers that can break when they drop but a moments pause is the harness that keeps them from falling.
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We are much like the nights sky, the big things draw our attention. But its the little things that really light us up.
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You are the book I keep closed, for some stories are not easy to read. But flowers bloom in between like the story is still alive.
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Bitter sweet rose her thorns pierce every bone, but her lustful petals fall like bandaids for bleeding sores.
TERAZA FAULKNER






