“Some days you exist like the last speaker of an extinct language. These are the silences that litter the heart.” HeartLastsLanguageSilenceSpeakers Author:Richard Jackson
“Why is it we love so fully what has washed up on the beaches of our hearts, those lost messages, lost friends, the daylight stars we never get to see? Bad luck never takes a vacation, my friend once wrote. It lies there among the broken shells and stones we collect, a story he would say begins with you, with me, a story that is forever lost among the backwaters of our lives, our endless fear of ourselves, and our endless need for hope, a story, perhaps an answer, a word suddenly on wing, the simple sound of a torn heart, or the unmistakable scent of the morning's fading moon.” NeedsHeartStoriesLyingLostStarsSoundSimpleAnswersMorningForeverOur LivesBrokenMoonMessagesMy FriendsStonesLuckWingsEndlessBeachVacationShellsScentTornDaylightBad LuckFadingLost Friend Author:Richard Jackson
“The heart sags. My footprints forget me. I don’t think anything will ever be the same. This is the edge of the cliff and you can’t move, can’t jump. Everything is vertical. With binoculars you can see where you’ll be in an hour. Raindrops collect on the lens. A fine mist. It hides us. It drifts into clocks. Gravity presses your hands. Some hurts never get said. Some get smuggled.” ThinkingHeartSaidHandsMovingHoursHurtForgetFinePressesEdgesClockGravityLensesCliffsMistFootprintRaindropsVerticalForget MeBinoculars Author:Richard Jackson
