Rachel Thompson Quotes

You used words, discarding them meaninglessly, without thinking, whereas I thought they held meaning. I found what you will never see: that my love resides on the other side of words. - Broken Places

She wondered If I had woken up, would I have smelled his sadness, his desperation, and his detachment?
His death, her breath.
He told her once, she remembers, these two words have no other rhyme but each other.
If she could go back, she thinks
She would open her eyes, instead of her heart.

I've traveled this road for many decades and I still don't know how to go. I am a wanderer, traversing mountains of time. There is no fault, only fault lines that tremor and quake, barring me, no warning. Aftershocks. -Broken Places

Some events are so harrowing, they either shape who we become or we move past them. They either break us entirely, or we pick up the pieces and put ourselves back together, altered but not shattered.

Silence is one of worst, most vocal enemies, yet people go through many bouts of depression not sharing what is happening. People don't understand that, but as someone who suffers from it, I can tell you that it's difficult to be objective about the gray.
I described depression to my therapist as a misty fog that surrounds me, heavy on my shoulders, pervading everything and nothing at all. I liken depression to a bird stealing into the depths of your soul, pecking at your disposition until nothing is left.
And that is when you break into pieces.

Women have rooms inside of us men cannot fathom.
It's where we store the depths of the hurt we've been dealt.
Where we store the deep love we never want to lose.

Like a butterfly in glass, I want to fly away to you but the invisible walls contain me. It's not time.
Hard to accept when I feel your words calling to me.
Your soul beckoning me with its pull.
Come to me, you say in one breath; stay, you say in another.
I taste your lips on mine and pray I make my way to you
As a butterfly chases its freedom.
So will I.

I still can't wrap my mind around crossing that line of human behavior – civilized people punching and fighting, making violence their communication of choice.

Is it because I'm a woman, I've never considered hitting someone who acted inappropriately? Even one of my best male friends, a gentle man, a believer in spirit and mankind, has thrown a few punches in his time.

As a writer, my weapons are words. The thought of hurting someone physically to prove my point has never and will never be an option for me. Well, let me amend that: if someone hurt my child in front of me, tiger-mother's claws would come out.

PAIN, NOT UNLIKE CLAY, stretches and molds us into someone we never knew existed. There's beauty in that. Beauty most people can't, don't want to, or are afraid to see. Every scar we carry, physical or emotional, is unique. Nobody's pain feels exactly the same because I can't experience what you have.

In a surreal gift from the universe, time both stands still and flies past you in that singular moment when you find out someone you once loved is gone.

We look at your eyes. The eyes carry the wounds. The eyes know damage. Damaged people recognize other damaged people, and we let you in. We are kindred. - Broken Places

Taking your language into my soul, feeling it separate from sentences to words burning with flight, 'til all I have left are meaningless letters pushing fire through my veins. Words can draw blood if you're very, very careful. - Broken Places

My world, created by glass and flame in the birth of your heat, implodes inside the shadowed walls of my heart.
I swallowed the shards you gave me, your eyes on mine.
Nothing is easy.
I wait, feeling your hands holding the shattered pieces of my soul together in the molten, darkest recesses of the heart you claimed, unwilling to give up.
I am inside you, waiting to come out.

But here's my secret, what I think has gotten my husband and I through over twenty years, my sister through almost thirty, and my folks through almost over fifty: humor. We laugh at ourselves, each other, at pretty much everything.

I hear the beating of the waves you carry in your chest
That simple and that profound
This love that binds us
Folded in pieces inside love's soul.