“He’s not perfect. You aren’t either, and the two of you will never be perfect. But if he can make you laugh at least once, causes you to think twice, and if he admits to being human and making mistakes, hold onto him and give him the most you can. He isn’t going to quote poetry, he’s not thinking about you every moment, but he will give you a part of him that he knows you could break. Don’t hurt him, don’t change him, and don’t expect for more than he can give. Don’t analyze. Smile when he makes you happy, yell when he makes you mad, and miss him when he’s not there. Love hard when there is love to be had. Because perfect guys don’t exist, but there’s always one guy that is perfect for you.” – Bob Marley
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.
Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.
Because she wants to touch him,
she moves away.
Because she wants to talk to him,
she keeps silent.
Because she wants to kiss him,
she turns away
& kisses a man she does not want to kiss.
thinking she does not want him.
hearing her silence.
He turns away
thinking her distant
& kisses a girl he does not want to kiss.
They marry each other–
a four-way mistake.
He goes to bed with his wife
thinking of her.
She goes to bed with her husband
thinking of him.
–& all this in a real old-fashioned four-poster bed.
Do they live unhappily ever after?
Do they undo their mistakes ever?
Who is the victim here?
Love is the victim.
Who is the villain?
Love that never dies.
© Erica Mann Jong
I read them,
and then I threw them in the trash,
but make no mistake, I read them.
I swallowed them whole.
I filled my eyes with every word,
I sewed them in patterns
into my flesh of my body,
at night I wake to entertain the ghosts
lounging in my bedroom
with impromptu recitations
of your letters, of your thoughts,
of the shape of you in words
but I could not keep your letters.
I could not let them languish
in a dusty box, fermenting
into poisons in the closet dark.
I could not let them lie in wait,
like coiled paper vipers
ready to strike the hand that strays
too far and stirs the den.
I believe- that we don’t have to change friends if we understand that friends change.
I believe- that no matter how good a friend is, They’re going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.
I believe- that true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance. Same goes for true love.
I believe- That you can do something in an instant that will give you heartache for life.
I believe- that it’s taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.
I believe- that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you see them.
I believe- that you can keep going long after you can’t.
I believe- that we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.
I believe- that either you control your attitude or it controls you.
I believe- that regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there had better be something else to take its place.
I believe- that heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.
I believe- that money is a lousy way of keeping score.
I believe- that my best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have the best time.
I believe- that sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you’re down, will be the ones to help you get back up.
I believe- that sometimes when I’m angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn’t give me the right to be cruel.
I believe- that just because someone doesn’t love you the way you want them to doesn’t mean they don’t love you with all they have.
I believe- that maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you’ve had and what you’ve learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you’ve celebrated.
I believe- that it isn’t always enough to be forgiven by others. Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.
I believe- that no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn’t stop for your grief.
I believe- that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become.
I believe- that just because two people argue, it doesn’t mean they don’t love each other And just because they don’t argue, it doesn’t mean they do.
I believe- that you shouldn’t be so eager to find out a secret. It could change your life forever.
I believe- that two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different.
I believe- that your life can be changed in a matter of hours by people who don’t even know you.
I believe- that even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out to you, you will find the strength to help.
I believe- that credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being.
I believe- that the people you care about most in life are taken from you too soon.
Ready or not, some day it will all come to an end.
There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days.
All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten, will pass to someone else.
Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance.
It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.
Your grudges, resentments, frustrations and jealousies will finally disappear.
So too, your hopes, ambitions, plans and to-do lists will expire.
The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.
It won’t matter where you came from or what side of the tracks you lived on at the end.
It won’t matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant.
Even your gender and skin color will be irrelevant.
So what will matter? How will the value of your days be measured?
What will matter is not what you bought, but what you built;
not what you got, but what you gave.
What will matter is not your success, but your significance.
What will matter is not what you learned, but what you taught.
What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage or sacrifice that enriched, empowered or encouraged others to emulate your example.
What will matter is not your competence, but your character.
What will matter is not how many people you knew,
but how many will feel a lasting loss when you’re gone.
What will matter is not your memories,
but the memories that live in those who loved you.
What will matter is how long you will be remembered, by whom and for what.
Living a life that matters doesn’t happen by accident.
It’s not a matter of circumstance but of choice.
Choose to live a life that matters.
|Love is a slow kiss goodnight
It is anticipation.
Love is an imperfection in yourself not bothering you.
Love is passing up an opportunity because the time isn’t right yet.
Love is a back massage that starts above the hairline and ends around the innersoles.
Love is not having to say, “Let’s make love”, because you know what the other person wants.
Love is being given an honest chance to say no when you thought you were committed.
Love is saying the perfect phrase to make a solemn embrace dissolve into giggles.
Love is being told, “Stop and I’ll kill you”.
Love is reviewing the damage to your living room and realizing personal effects are strewn in a clockwise pattern from the front door to the bedroom.
Love is seeing what your lover really looks like for the first time.
Love is knowing what time it is and not caring.
Love is the arms around you tightening their embrace.
Love is telling a person, if you have to leave, you will let them sleep, and being told they would rather be awakened.
Love is waking up to find the subject of the dream you were having asleep on your shoulder.
Love is being there to wake your lover……..slowly.
Love is belatedly knowing why you bought a king size bed three years ago.
Love is two people only taking up a third of a king size bed.
Love is knowing you gave the extra set of keys to the right person.
Love is saying goodbye and knowing you will be back by mutual consent.
Love is stretching your arms and discovering the real meaning of the word “sore”.
Love is opening your medicine cabinet and finding your toothpaste turned into a pretzel.
Love is sitting at the window, looking out, and remembering who you were with the night before.
Love is hearing the weather forecast for a winter storm, and wishing you could spend it in bed with your lover.
Love is stories that will never be told.
could you come a little closer? slide that way you slide, so shy, wanting mouth open, try to suck in enough air to pacify the limits of lungs so useless in the dark mantle of these deeds, haunting your fingertips as they trace the contours of my lips, speaking too deaf silence closer my love, there will be no more breathing: quiet these vain protests echoing past the dying candle; nononononono, i don’t want this any more than you want the icy prongs of betrayal along the spine, harrowing soil to bear the fruit of your transgressions, elevated in your judas gaze; oh, darling, this heat is consuming the oxygen in the room of four, volatile hatred turned to lust; oh, woe are we caught in the movements that drag our tongues together, choking each other to the rhythm of two hearts bleeding into a single pool of glimmering vice.
You Thought I Was That Type
You thought I was that type:
That you could forget me,
And that I’d plead and weep
And throw myself under the hooves of a bay mare,
Or that I’d ask the sorcerers
For some magic potion made from roots and send you a terrible gift:
My precious perfumed handkerchief.
Damn you! I will not grant your cursed soul
Vicarious tears or a single glance.
And I swear to you by the garden of the angels,
I swear by the miracle-working icon,
And by the fire and smoke of our nights:
I will never come back to you.
by Anna Akhmatova
I want to sleep forever and reside in my dreams
To frolic through a collage of different spectacles and scenes
An escape from the insufferable, cruel world at large
I want to sleep forever
I want to sleep forever so I can live in my dreams
The ruler of the lands, the queen of all kings
With nothing to fear but the darkside of the conscience
I want to sleep forever
I want to sleep forever and fight my inner demons
Provide peace of mind for all bothered and exhausted
Float on utter bliss; those monsters, I’ll never miss
I want to sleep forever
I want to sleep forever and never show sadness again
Bright, long-lasting smiles on weekly sullen days
Created and maintained in a variety of ways
I want to sleep forever
I want to sleep forever to erase everything
I want to sleep forever and feel warmth again
To bathe myself in content that won’t ever end
Let me sleep forever