Tyler Knott Gregson Quotes

I would love to say that you make me weak in the knees but to be quite upfront and completely truthful you make my body forget it has knees at all.

Promise me you will not spend so much time treading water and trying to keep your head above the waves that you forget, truly forget, how much you have always loved to swim.

Will you tolerate the strangeness inside of me, the quirks of my soul?

I would imagine there are days when Superman wakes up, glances at his cape, and wonders when someone will come save him.

I promise you I will try harder to be better. I have battled with things inside me for longer than you know; I do not know what they are or why they are there, I only know that they feel manageable, defeatable, when I am around You.

I love you, in ways you've never been loved, for reasons you've never been told, for longer than you think you deserved and with more than you will ever know existed inside me.

What if it's the there and not the here that I long for? The wander and not the wait, the magic in the lost feet stumbling down the faraway street and the way the moon never hangs quite the same.

Oh what we could be if we stopped carrying the remains of who we were.

You are the poem I never knew how to write and this life is the story I have always wanted to tell.

Some days I wake up and all I feel are the fractures in the flesh that covers the only me I've ever known. Some days, it's those exact fissures that let the light hiding inside me pour out and cover in gold everyone that found enough beauty in the cracks to stand close.

Photos I’m not in and memories we don’t share, haunt my lonely eyes.

Sometimes the only way to catch your breath is to lose it completely.

Do you think it possible that some people are born to give more love than they will ever get back in return?

I do not know if I will ever be complete, but I know whatever I am, You will always be the rest of me.

I would rather wear honest tears than the most beautiful and elaborately faked smile.

I have blisters on my feet from dancing alone with your ghost.

What an utter disgrace it would be to find something truly magic and spend any time at all pretending and trying to convince yourself it is all just an unbelievably orchestrated and beautifully choreographed illusion.

Thank You" she whispered soft like it may blow away with anything stronger than a breathe, "for fixing me." "You," I sputtered out like the first sound of morning, "were never broken.

In the space, the pause between this breath and the one that follows, you have made a home inside me.

I believe in love at first sight but I will always believe that the people we love we have loved before. Many, many, many times before and when we stumble through grace and circumstance and that brilliant illusion of choice to finally meet them again, we feel it faster each time through. The one glance that set life alight is two sets of two eyes staring through the layers of lifetimes and stolen glances and first kisses and hands held; the brace against the weight and unrelenting tide of waiting. I believe in love at first sight but am not burdened with the misconception that it's a first sight at all.

All I know, all I can comprehend of the mathematics of a life, are the times your hand is inside my hand, and the times it is not.

You are the poem I never knew how to write and this life is the story I have always wanted to tell.

I overheard the man whisper "I am a lover not a fighter," and to myself I thought I, am in fact, both. For is it love at all if it's not worth fighting for?

I would be lying if I said there were not times that I am an earthquake contained inside this skin

I will never, ever believe in the words "too late" because it is never too late to be exactly who you wish, do exactly what you should, say exactly what needs to be heard, and live the exact life you should be living.

please forgive my hands when they can't stop finding you. please forgive my lips.

And you loved me like I was, and had always been, the answer and the question did not, and would never, matter.

We are the only people I have ever known that can make love from across a crowded room.

I am leaking letters and dripping verbs and bathing myself in the actions they long to take.

I would rather hurt, and walk through the flames you leave, than never feel you.

They pay no mind to the spectacle behind them. They pay no mind because to them, all things are great, all things are grand. What a life if we found the focal point everywhere, in everything, the miracle in the most mundane and the stunning in the simple.

I want the light filtered down through the trees painting flesh like a mosaic and filling up the dark in me. I want to see how sunset decorates your hair.

I am yours and I will whisper it and shout it and write it and carve it into my skin if only blood would tell you the truth you need to see. I am yours and I have never been anyone's before.

I find you in storms, I feel you in the lightning, I miss you in rain.

Do broken pianos play broken songs? Do they have busted melodies for busted hearts? Is there a song living inside it that's waiting to get out? Her keys are shattered and her notes long since silent but I can still hear her song. Just listen, just listen.

When we are we and a closet we share, I will hang my clothes in the opposite direction as yours, because after a wait like this, I think even they deserve to always be walking directly towards each other.

Wherever I am, whatever I am doing, you are in it all.

You have never had to steal my breath, or take it away, somehow you have always managed to convince me to hand it over freely.

Somewhere someone thinks they love someone else exactly like I love you. Somewhere someone shakes from the ripple of a thousand butterflies inside a single stomach. Somewhere someone is packing their bags to see the world with someone else. Somewhere someone is reaching through the most terrifying few feet of space to hold the hand of someone else. Somewhere someone is watching someone else’s chest rise and fall with the breath of slumber. Somewhere someone is pouring ink like blood onto pages fighting to say the truth that has no words. Somewhere someone is waiting patient but exhausted to just be with someone else. Somewhere someone is opening their eyes to a sunrise in someplace they have never seen. Somewhere someone is pulling out the petals twisting the apple stem picking up the heads up penny rubbing the rabbits foot knocking on wood throwing coins into fountains hunting for the only clover with only 4 leaves skipping over the cracks snapping the wishbone crossing their fingers blowing out the candles sending dandelion seeds into the air ushering eyelashes off their thumbs finding the first star and waiting for 11:11 on their clock to spend their wishes on someone else. Somewhere someone is saying goodbye but somewhere someone else is saying hello. Somewhere someone is sharing their first or their last kiss with their or no longer their someone else. Somewhere someone is wondering if how they feel is how the other they feels about them and if both theys could ever become a they together. Somewhere someone is the decoder ring to all of the great mysteries of life for someone else. Somewhere someone is the treasure map. Somewhere someone thinks they love someone else exactly like I love you. Somewhere someone is wrong.

I'll never ask you to be anything other than exactly you.

Be gentle, always delicate with every soul you meet, for every single morning you wake up, there is someone Wishing, silently and secretly, that they had not.

Because of you I can feel myself slowly but surely becoming the me I have always dreamed of being.

I am so tired of waking to the blank canvass of morning and realizing it won't be painted with you.

come crawl atop me and we will spend the daylight buried in kisses

Let it go, just let it go, but if I set down that weight what will show my arms they are strong?

Sometimes you look up and there just seems to be so many more stars that ever before. More. They burn brighter and they shine longer and they never vanish into your periphery when you turn your head. It's as if they come out for us and to remind us that their light took so long to come to us, that if we never had the patience to wait, we never would have seen them here, tonight, like this. That as much as it hurts, sometimes it's all you can do, wait, endure and keep shining, knowing that eventually, your light will reach where it is supposed to reach and shine for who it is supposed to shine for. It is never easy, but it is always worth it.

Is it possible for a heart to be exhausted? Can it still be worn when locked tight in its cage? My heart's beat is a drum too loose, a dull thud where it once was triumphant.

When I'm an old man, I don't want to count the years, we forgot to share.

I will wait, I am waiting, and I will love you with all the love I posses until this body is ash and I begin my search for you again.

You were the thing worth photographing, the stillness that begged for a matte finish and far off stare.

You are the habit that I will spend my lifetime trying not to break.

Find my hand in the darkness and if we cannot find the light, we will always make our own.

I promise to plant kisses like seeds on you body, so in time you can grow to love yourself as I love you.

There is more light than darkness, there has always been.

Come here and take off your clothes and with them every single worry you have ever carried. My fingertips on your back will be the very last thing you will feel before sleeping and the sound of my smile will be the alarm clock to your morning ears. Come here and take off your clothes and with them the weight of every yesterday that snuck atop your shoulders and declared them home. My whispers will be the soundtrack to your secret dreams and my hand the anchor to the life you will open your eyes to. Come here and take off your clothes.

Oh what we could be if we stopped carrying the remains of who we were.

Don't ever tell me I'm broken if you will not be the glue, and please don't point out the fractures if that's all you're allowed to do.

When you have swam in the sea a lake will no longer do; everyone else has been a pond but the ocean was always you.

Was I born patient or have the years of waiting taught me to be?

Promise me you will not spend so much time treading water and trying to keep your head above the waves that you forget, truly forget, how much you have always loved to swim.” -Tyler Knott Gregson

We were one, once. One continent that floated alone in a sea of blue. Time and tide and forces that exist without the necessity of our belief, pulled us, into two, into many,

Brighter, now brighter, pay no mind to those who squint, burn with all your heat.

I am the empty sound that fills the space between two when neither one knows what to say. I am the moment before the faint, the all black and soundless fall, I am the echoless dark of far off space. I am the way it never needs sound to shine.

Just keep waking up, dragging yourself out of bed. It will get better.

We carry in us all we could ever possibly need.

Oh what we see when we finally stop looking.

There is no difference: Love is love and love is love. We are all the same.

I promise to plant kisses like seeds on your body, so in time you can grow to love yourself as I love you.

I want to know what your skin feels like after three days of traveling and no bother of a shower because what we see is more and worth more than how we feel.

If you give me home I will give you adventure. It's both we can have.

You are exactly Precisely and perfectly What I waited for.

Please don't break this heart, it's endured so very much, it survived the fall.

What if time stole my tenderness, what if I am worn through and grace was wasted in the waiting? can I climb out of what you have buried me under? When will it stop feeling like I am breathing though a cloth soaked in salt water? When will home stop being a silent cemetery of every wish I've had to bury?

This is an ode to all of those that have never asked for one. A thank you in words to all of those that do not do what they do so well for the thanking. This is to the mothers. This is to the ones who match our first scream with their loudest scream; who harmonize in our shared pain and joy and terrified wonder when life begins. This is to the mothers. To the ones who stay up late and wake up early and always know the distance between their soft humming song and our tired ears. To the lips that find their way to our foreheads and know, somehow always know, if too much heat is living in our skin. To the hands that spread the jam on the bread and the mesmerizing patient removal of the crust we just cannot stomach. This is to the mothers. To the ones who shout the loudest and fight the hardest and sacrifice the most to keep the smiles glued to our faces and the magic spinning through our days. To the pride they have for us that cannot fit inside after all they have endured. To the leaking of it out their eyes and onto the backs of their hands, to the trails of makeup left behind as they smile through those tears and somehow always manage a laugh. This is to the patience and perseverance and unyielding promise that at any moment they would give up their lives to protect ours. This is to the mothers. To the single mom’s working four jobs to put the cheese in the mac and the apple back into the juice so their children, like birds in a nest, can find food in their mouths and pillows under their heads. To the dreams put on hold and the complete and total rearrangement of all priority. This is to the stay-at-home moms and those that find the energy to go to work every day; to the widows and the happily married. To the young mothers and those that deal with the unexpected announcement of a new arrival far later than they ever anticipated. This is to the mothers. This is to the sack lunches and sleepover parties, to the soccer games and oranges slices at halftime. This is to the hot chocolate after snowy walks and the arguing with the umpire at the little league game. To the frosting ofbirthday cakes and the candles that are always lit on time; to the Easter egg hunts, the slip-n-slides and the iced tea on summer days. This is to the ones that show us the way to finding our own way. To the cutting of the cord, quite literally the first time and even more painfully and metaphorically the second time around. To the mothers who become grandmothers and great-grandmothers and if time is gentle enough, live to see the children of their children have children of their own. To the love. My goodness to the love that never stops and comes from somewhere only mothers have seen and know the secret location of. To the love that grows stronger as their hands grow weaker and the spread of jam becomes slower and the Easter eggs get easier to find and sack lunches no longer need making. This is to the way the tears look falling from the smile lines around their eyes and the mascara that just might always be smeared with the remains of their pride for all they have created. This is to the mothers.

There will always be light, and I will never stop chasing it.

If I died tonight I think I would like to come back as your morning coffee. Just as strong and just as necessary.

I stare at your lips and fall in love with the way they form what you say.

We too can rise up, We too can float like lanterns To a better place.

I just may be the strangest person you will ever know. I am filled with too many oddities and too few consistencies and I will always lack the spongey filter that should live between brain and mouth. These defining traits these enduring characteristics, and these fingers crossed that in all of it, you will find them irresistible.

Part those sheets like holy waters and I will worship you skin like a born-again believer.

She is she alone, and never needs help from me to be all she is.

It is unspoken, All the passion between us. Will it stay that way?

It’s ok you know, To be carried now and then, Strength too needs a rest.

I am made of more; More than tears, more than heartache, More than all of this.

It is hard to not feel broken when it is always quiet enough to hear your pieces rattle.

We are the memory keepers and the trappers of time; stealers of stolen glances and breathless lungs from all that have been taken away. We are the noticers of subtle signs hidden in plain sight by a benevolent universe bigger than we'd ever believe...We are the directionless wanderers and the destinationless travelers and we are the crumpled map that never got packed to join us. We are the cinematic lovers and the translucent curtains saturated in light. The soundtrack to the moments without sounds and the swiftness that two bodies can become one in the stillness of a second. We, says the last string pulled out, the final string that kept it all together, balled up tight, filling us after all this time, We, are the chasers of the light.

I love the moments that absolutely dwarf you. That show you where you fit and how small you are. That remind you that we are all specks of dust caught up in a tornado and we never even know we are spinning.

I am filled with wonderings, questions and doubt, but of one thing I am certain: it will always be you that gives flight to the butterflies inside me; calm to the sea I have become and hope to the darkness all around us. It is you and it has always been you... you.

Are they beautiful? The lines left from suffering, Scars of emptiness.

The morning coffee reminds me of your waking I stir to find you

Lay down your roots now, let them wrap tight around mine, sink deep in the soil.

I am made from the creaking beams and rusted nails of a lonely vessel on a lonely sea. I am covered and coated, dusted with old salt water and the frail residue of moonlight.

And the sound of my smile will be the alarm clock to your morning ears.

Adventure lives a whisper beyond our comfort zones, just half a breathe after No turns into Yes.

I care not about lost firsts, but I will fight, knuckles bloody and teeth sharpened, for your lasts.

Press your ear to my chest and listen where a heartbeat should sing you will hear the melancholy songs of tired whales.

Have you returned for me? Is this the last flash before starting anew? Will it hurt? Will it matter if it does? Was I kind enough? Did I love with more than fit inside me?

Look up more than down. See more than say. Listen more than speak. Hope more than dread. Believe more than criticize. Yes more than no. No more than maybe. Laugh more than cry. Love more than hate. See. More. See.

I still believe I can do anything. Somehow along the way I never lost what I see so many people losing, that hope never found its way out of me. So many forget that we are capable of magic things, we can construct our own futures, as we wish, as we have always wished. We are not born believing in limitations, we emerge flat on our backs, we teach ourselves to walk.

Sometimes you look up and there just seems to be so many more stars than ever before. More. They burn brighter and they shine longer and they never vanish into your periphery when you turn your head. It's as if they come out for us and to remind us that their light took so long to come to us, that if we never had the patience to wait, we never would have seen them here, tonight, like this. That as much as it hurts, sometimes it's all you can do, wait, endure and keep shining, knowing that eventually, your light will reach where it is supposed to reach and shine for who it is supposed to shine for. It is never easy, but it is always worth it.