It was meant to be just rain, that went away. Yet we became the storm, of yesterday.
TERAZA FAULKNERThe sun never gets tired of kissing the sky, goodnight. And my heart will never tire of a love, like that.
More Teraza Faulkner Quotes
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There is snow on my face and wind in my hair and winter has nearly stolen me. But as I remember the words of our song then spring still owns a part of me.
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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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You’re the crescent moon cradling all theses shadows of me teach me how to shine so there’s no distance between you and I.
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Mountains speak in peaks and troughs. Just like life. And just like love.
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Skin on skin his heart beat an orchestra against her chest. Love never tires of music like this.
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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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There is no road less travelled than the one that leads into the sea. But the waves will always take you to where you need to be.
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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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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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Maybe all these tears are leading me somewhere. Because when the sun meets rain, something beautiful emerges. And perhaps I am a rainbow in the making.
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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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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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Sometimes it is not about the touch at all it is about the hands they belong too.
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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.
TERAZA FAULKNER