wystswolf

poetry

She was never alone. She carried other heartbeats within her.

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Passions bubble over because that is what passion is designed to do.

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Love is not always loud. Sometimes it’s just staying until the music fades.

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Sometimes we return to the dream, not because it’s true, but because it’s the only thing that ever made us feel real.

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Whatever our souls are made of, these two are the same.

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She Was On His Mind Like A Song On The Radio

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I didn't listen to Tom Petty and came around here.

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There is something sacred about the hush before a spiritual gathering. That quiet space where the mind begins to shift, and the heart leans forward.

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In the end, we'll agree, we'll accept, we'll immortalize

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What you’re waiting for is still being built. The delay is love, not punishment.

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