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If you’re willing to live in a cardboard box on the streets with him, then marry him.
The best narrative is one of infinite love. A spiritual affair--one not of the material world. Intermingled, with no beginning nor end--it will always stand the test of time.
a long time ago when cataclysms were commonas sneezes and land masses slidaround the globe looking for placesto settle down and become continents, someone introduced us at a party.
I just got my signals crossed. First thing, I have to untangle the connections. Otherwise, I come away empty-handed. Or with someone else's hands. Or even with a missing hand.
I just can’t do it anymore. It’s too painful. It doesn’t mean I’m over you, it means I’m not going to waste the rest of my life being haunted by your memory.
With a heavy heart, I pulled out my own pocket knife, and carved three little words beneath Archer’s. A plea and a wish, in a form I could never take back. Return to me.
Ben made me laugh. I was attracted to his attraction for me: the way he smiled for instance, whenever he saw me, that goofy kind of grin that hijacks the face of the helplessly smitten.
Which is when I decided I would never love anyone again because you just felt like an idiot when you put love out there and it didn't come back your way.
Why weren't we born in the same era?" he lamented. She eased past him neither here nor there, looked over her shoulder and whispered, "How mundane and cliche would that be?
And she never knew that he laid awake the whole time, his lips at her temple, his hand against her hair.Whispering her name.Whispering other words as well.
Did you hear about Katie Parkinson? ... She's going out with Christopher... They've been kissing.""It was like a Semtex explosion in my brain. I did not know whether to cry or run away.
She personified her name in everything she did. Even when we would row, her words were deftly chosen and spoken rather like an intricate dance. And I so loved to dance with her.
Souls soar high above reach, Hands extend but never touch, Words exchanged in dulcet tones, Tis a fated moment to understand one's truth, Time to let go.
Was it possible there was some fatal flaw in their matching, that they were ultimately, impossibly different--dissimilar enough to fall in love, but too fundamentally distinct to stay together?
We come here (literally) reaching for intimacy and love. But it seems soon after our arrival, we're made to believe that they're luxuries not necessities.