This life is what you make it. No matter what, you're going to mess up sometimes, it's a universal truth. But the good part is you get to decide how you're going to mess it up. Girls will be your friends - they'll act like it anyway. But just remember, some come, some go. The ones that stay with you through everything - they're your true best friends. Don't let go of them. Also remember, sisters make the best friends in the world. As for lovers, well, they'll come and go too. And baby, I hate to say it, most of them - actually pretty much all of them are going to break your heart, but you can't give up because if you give up, you'll never find your soulmate. You'll never find that half who makes you whole and that goes for everything. Just because you fail once, doesn't mean you're gonna fail at everything. Keep trying, hold on, and always, always, always believe in yourself, because if you don't, then who will, sweetie? So keep your head high, keep your chin up, and most importantly, keep smiling, because life's a beautiful thing and there's so much to smile about.
Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.
Well, nowIf little by little you stop loving meI shall stop loving youLittle by littleIf suddenly you forget meDo not look for meFor I shall already have forgotten youIf you think it long and mad the wind of banners that passes through my lifeAnd you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have rootsRememberThat on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my armsAnd my roots will set off to seek another land
Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! - I have as much soul as you, - and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you!
You teach me now how cruel you've been - cruel and false. Why did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: they'll blight you - they'll damn you. You loved me - what right had you to leave me? What right - answer me - for the poor fancy you felt for Linton? Because misery, and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will did it. I have no broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong. Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you - Oh, God! would you like to lie with your soul in the grave?
Gentle reader, may you never feel what I then felt! May your eyes never shed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as poured from mine. May you never appeal to Heaven in prayers so hopeless and so agised as in that hour left my lips: for never may you, like me, dread to be the instrument of evil to what you wholly love.
You can’t turn love on and off like a light switch, no matter how hard you try. All you can do is wall it off, one brick at a time, until you’ve created an impenetrable fortress around your emotions. And once that fortress is built, you camouflage it so well that even you can’t see it anymore.
To be rejected by someone doesn't mean you should also reject yourself or that you should think of yourself as a lesser person. It doesn't mean that nobody will ever love you anymore. Remember that only ONE person has rejected you at the moment, and it only hurt so much because to you, that person's opinion symbolized the opinion of the whole world, of God.
There's always a moment when you start to fall out of love, whether it's with a person or an idea or a cause, even if it's one you only narrate to yourself years after the event: a tiny thing, a wrong word, a false note, which means that things can never be quite the same again.
Never give all the heart, for loveWill hardly seem worth thinking ofTo passionate women if it seemCertain, and they never dreamThat it fades out from kiss to kiss;For everything that's lovely isBut a brief, dreamy, kind delight.O Never give the heart outright,For they, for all smooth lips can say,Have given their hearts up to the play.And who could play it well enoughIf deaf and dumb and blind with love?He that made this knows all the cost,For he gave all his heart and lost.
She hardly ever thought of him. He had worn a place for himself in some corner of her heart, as a sea shell, always boring against the rock, might do. The making of the place had been her pain. But now the shell was safely in the rock. It was lodged, and ground no longer.
When you're missing a peice of yourself, aching, gut wrenching emptiness begins to take over. Until you find the link that completes your very soul, the feeling will never go away. Most people find a way to fill this void, material possessions, a string of relationships, affairs, food...I bare my soul, with words, for all to see.
Yes, I understand why things had to happen this way. I understand his reason for causing me pain. But mere understanding does not chase away the hurt. It does not call upon the sun when dark clouds have loomed over me. Let the rain come then if it must come! And let it wash away the dust that hurt my eyes!
Do you like me?”No answer.Silence bounced, fell off his tongueand sat between usand clogged my throat.It slaughtered my trust.It tore cigarettes out of my mouth.We exchanged blind words,and I did not cry,I did not beg,but blackness filled my ears,blackness lunged in my heart,and something that had been good,a sort of kindly oxygen,turned into a gas oven.
When she came to her senses again she cut off all contact with him. It had not been easy, but she had steeled herself. The last time she saw him she was standing on a platform in the tunnelbana at Gamla Stan and he was sitting in the train on his way downtown. She had stared at him for a whole minute and decided that she did not have a grain of feeling left, because it would have been the same as bleeding to death. Fuck you.
The feeling of loving her and being loved by her welled up in him, and he could taste the adrenaline in the back of his throat, and maybe it wasn't over, and maybe he could feel her hand in his again and hear her loud, brash voice contort itself into a whisper to say I-love-you as if it were a secret, and an immense one.
I'll tell you something, Harpy," he said, his voice almost a whisper now. "It never even occurred to me that we wouldn't make it. And it never occurred to you that we would. You were just waiting for us to go down in flames. I thought we could get through anything.
But I was youngand didn’t know betterand someone should have told me to capture every secondevery kiss & every nightBecause now I’m sitting here alone and it’s getting really hard to breath because tears are growing in my throat and they want to break out, but there are peoplewatchingand I just want to be somewhere silentsomewhere stillBut still I don’t want to be alone because I’m scared and lonelyand I don’t understandBecause I was alone my whole lifeMy whole lifeI was so damn lonely and I was content with thatbecause I liked myself and my own company and I didn’t need anyoneI thoughtBut then there was you .. ...So, someone should have told me that love is for those few brave who can handle the unbearable emptiness,the unbearable guilt and lack of oneself,Because I lost myself to someone I loveand I might get myself back one daybut it will take time, it will take time.This is gonna take some time.I wish someone would have told me this.Someone should have told me this.
think when it's all over it just comes back in flashes, you know? It's like a kaleidoscope of memories; it just all comes back. But he never does. I think part of me knew the second I saw him that this would happen. It's not really anything he said, or anything he did ― it was the feeling that came along with it. Crazy thing is, I don't know if I'm ever going to feel that way again. But I don't know if I should. I knew his world moved too fast and burned too bright, but I just thought, 'How can the devil be pulling you toward someone who looks so much like an angel when he smiles at you?' Maybe he knew that when he saw me. I guess I just lost my balance. I think that the worst part of it all wasn't losing him. It was losing me.
For there are two kinds of forgiveness in the world: the one you practice because everything really is all right, and what went before is mended. The other kind of forgiveness you practice because someone needs desperately to be forgiven, or because you need just as badly to forgive them, for a heart can grab hold of old wounds and go sour as milk over them.
She loved him. But he didn’t know how to love.He could talk about love. He could see love and feel love. But he couldn’t give love.He could make love. But he couldn’t make promises.She had desperately wanted his promises.She wanted his heart, knew she couldn’t have it so she took what she could get.Temporary bliss. Passionate highs and lows. Withdrawal and manipulation.He only stayed long enough to take what he needed and keep moving.If he stopped moving, he would self-destruct.If he stopped wandering, he would have to face himself.He chose to stay in the dark where he couldn’t see.If he exposed himself and the sun came out, he’d see his shadow.He was deathly afraid of his shadow.She saw his shadow, loved it, understood it. Saw potential in it.She thought her love would change him.He pushed and he pulled, tested boundaries, thinking she would never leave.He knew he was hurting her, but didn’t know how to share anything but pain.He was only comfortable in chaos. Claiming souls before they could claim him.Her love, her body, she had given to him and he’d taken with such feigned sincerity, absorbing every drop of her.His dark heart concealed.She’d let him enter her spirit and stroke her soul where everything is love and sensation and surrender.Wide open, exposed to deception.It had never occurred to her that this desire was not love.It was blinding the way she wanted him.She couldn’t see what was really happening, only what she wanted to happen.She suspected that he would always seek to minimize the risk of being split open, his secrets revealed.He valued his soul’s privacy far more than he valued the intimacy of sincere connection so he kept his distance at any and all costs.Intimacy would lead to his undoing—in his mind, an irrational and indulgent mistake.When she discovered his indiscretions, she threw love in his face and beat him with it.Somewhere deep down, in her labyrinth, her intricacy, the darkest part of her soul, she relished the mayhem.She felt a sense of privilege for having such passion in her life.He stirred her core.The place she dared not enter.The place she could not stir for herself.But something wasn’t right.His eyes were cold and dark.His energy, unaffected.He laughed at her and her antics, told her she was a mess.Frantic, she looked for love hiding in his eyes, in his face, in his stance, and she found nothing but disdain.And her heart stopped.
They'll say you are bador perhaps you are mador at least you should stay undercover.Your mind must be bareif you would dareto think you can love more than one lover.
If you stand right at the edge of the night sky, some place where one o’clock leaves to meet two, the breeze will carry your words up to the stars. And they’ll swallow your secrets until its time to hand them over to the truths in the sky- the ones that draw maps in the black. They carve their answers into the backs of my hands, the grooves of the words running deep in my palms.
Yes I value strong friendships on a very deep level, I value these connections because time and time again i will go through heartbreak, I will forget my self worth, I will make mistakes and my world will feel broken beyond repair and to have these special people in your life that will be there to help you pick up the pieces and remind you what makes you special and worth being alive is the most amazing feeling in the world and I would never trade that for anything.
I don't trust anybody who isn't a little bit neurotic
Life is a useless passion, an exciting journey of a mammal in survival mode. Each day is a miracle, a blessing unexplored and the more you immerse yourself in light, the less you will feel the darkness. There is more to life than nothingness. And cynicism. And nihilism. And selfishness. And glorious isolation. Be selfish with yourself, but live your life through your immortal acts, acts that engrain your legacy onto humanity. Transcend your fears and follow yourself into the void instead of letting yourself get eaten up by entropy and decay. Freedom is being yourself without permission. Be soft and leave a lasting impression on everybody you meet
Your fear of becoming a cliche is what turns you into one. If you remove the fear, we are all really walking contradictions, hypocrites and paradoxical cliches
You are not always right. It’s not always about being right. The best thing you can offer others is understanding. Being an active listener is about more than just listening, it is about reciprocating and being receptive to somebody else. Everybody has woes. Nobody is safe from pain. However, we all suffer in different ways. So learn to adapt to each person, know your audience and reserve yourself for people who have earned the depths of you
I am a habitual rule-breaker
Vulnerability is the least celebrated emotion in our society
I have been at war with parts of myself for so long
All my life I have heard the term happiness thrown around like a buzzword as if it is something to be gained. As I have previously expressed, I do not view happiness as a tangible thing. To me happinesss is the elimination of accumulated darkness. Self-sustaining happiness comes from contentment of acceptance, compassion and sympathetic joy, qualities which cannot be developed like a muscle, but rather they must be actualized by the removal of fetters in the mind
I take it as a compliment when somebody calls me crazy. I would be offended if I was one of the sheeple, one of the sleepwalkers in the matrix or part of the collective hallucination we call 'normal
Your memory feels like home to me.So whenever my mind wanders, it always finds it’s way back to you.
Being heartbroken doesn’t mean you stop feeling. Just the opposite — it means you feel it all more. With your heart in fragments, every sensation is sharper, every emotion more acute. Your feelings are enhanced, like a blind man with an impeccable sense of smell, or a deaf woman whose eyes can perceive things a normal person would never recognize. The brokenhearted are the best empaths of all.
You are going, Jane?""I am going, sir.""You are leaving me?""Yes.""You will not come? You will not be my comforter, my rescuer? My deep love, my wild woe, my frantic prayer, are all nothing to you?"What unutterable pathos was in his voice! How hard was it to reiterate firmly, "I am going!""Jane!""Mr. Rochester.""Withdraw then, I consent; but remember, you leave me here in anguish. Go up to your own room, think over all I have said, and, Jane, cast a glance on my sufferings; think of me."He turned away, he threw himself on his face on the sofa. "Oh, Jane! my hope, my love, my life!" broke in anguish from his lips. Then came a deep, strong sob.
Better this way, what remained of his battered sensibilities told him. He was no good for her, anyway. She didn’t understand him. She didn’t understand that he was cursed. And, selfish as he was, he’d rather she hate him than he hate himself any more than he was already going to. Any more than he already did.
Deep grief sometimes is almost like a specific location, a coordinate on a map of time. When you are standing in that forest of sorrow, you cannot imagine that you could ever find your way to a better place. But if someone can assure you that they themselves have stood in that same place, and now have moved on, sometimes this will bring hope
Morning breath here. ‘A dirty mouth you say,’ clean it up with Orbit.” Maya chuckled. “Unless you have gum, I’m not letting you near me.” She reached for a pillow and plopped it over her face. “Ha-ha! Good one. No gum on me, but I’ll settle for kissing your belly.” Alex whisked her pajama top up and knelt down to kiss the roundest part of her tummy.
She’s wild, unpredictable and dangerous as hell. Not just to my sanity, but to my health. She’s the kind of girl you know you’ll want forever with and forever will still not be enough. But she’s not the type of girl to give forever to you willingly. I’m pretty sure you’d have to drag it out of her kicking and screaming.” - Dominic Delaney -Damaged
There are still Ava Maddoxes to find and sets to create and girls to kiss and colleges to attend. It's possible that someday I will hear a patsy Cline song and the heartbreak will barely register. It will be some distant, buried feeling. I won't remember how much it once hurt.
…the sad part is, that I will probably end up loving you without you for much longer than I loved you when I knew you.Some people might find that strange.But the truth of it is that the amount of love you feel for someone and the impact they have on you as a person, is in no way relative to the amount of time you have known them.
There is an ocean of silence between us… and I am drowning in it.
I had someone once who made every day mean something.And now…. I am lost….And nothing means anything anymore.
It’s painful, loving someone from afar.Watching them – from the outside.The once familiar elements of their life reduced to nothing more than occasional mentions in conversations and faces changing in photographs…..They exist to you now as nothing more than living proof that something can still hurt you … with no contact at all.
If you cannot hold me in your arms, then hold my memory in high regard.And if I cannot be in your life, then at least let me live in your heart.
I miss that feeling of connection.Knowing he was out there somewhere thinking about me at the same time I was thinking about him.
When you experience loss, people say you’ll move through the 5 stages of grief….Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance….. What they don’t tell you is that you’ll cycle through them all every day.
The last time I felt alive – I was looking into your eyes.Breathing your air…. touching your skin…… Saying goodbye….The last time I felt alive…. I was dying.
He was both everything I could ever want…And nothing I could ever have…
I think perhaps I will always hold a candle for you – even until it burns my hand.And when the light has long since gone …. I will be there in the darkness holding what remains, quite simply because I cannot let go.
Though these words will never find you, I hope that you knew I was thinking of you today….. and that I was wishing you every happiness.Love Always,The girl you loved once.
I have poured my heart out ….And now I am empty.
The only place I ever felt at home was with you. There isn’t a place for me anywhere anymore… I’ve been evicted.
I would have followed you to hell and back... if only you'd lead me back.
I raised you so high that every other man on earth is now doomed to live in your shadow.
Every quote, every book, every film seemed to suggest that ‘one day’ someone would come into my life and love me with an intensity and a passion I had never experienced before. And to their credit they were right; It all came and went so fast it really did feel as if it were just ‘one day’....
He looked at me like I was the stars when all I’d ever felt like was the dark nothingness between them.
It’s the intricate details you miss the most. For me, it’s the soft lines around the eyes when he smiles… Or that look he gave me sometimes that I cannot begin to describe - but I would know it if I saw it again.It was the look that gave him away.I’d know that look anywhere…It used to be my everything.
Like so many others my story begins with that same old line…. ‘So anyway, there was this guy….’ Until one day…. there wasn’t.And nothing was ever the same after that….
Though life has fated that we never cross paths again, don’t ever feel alone. For we are parallel …. and I will always be by your side.
Though it’s reasons to burn may vary... you are always the fuel of my fire.
It’s difficult for me to imagine the rest of my life without you. But I suppose I don’t have to imagine it... I just have to live it
It’s times like this…. when it’s over a year later and I’m still crying over you that I want to turn to you and say: See…. This is why I asked you never to kiss me.
My heart’s been empty since you left - but still I refuse to put up a vacancy sign.I’m just not ready for anybody else to move in yet.
I write what I love.I will not stop – even when my hand hurts….…. because I cannot stop – even though my heart hurts….
I’d never dreamed anybody could love me the way he did. And even when he proved it to me time and again – I still could hardly believe it was true.
It’s funny how we say a person ‘made’ us when they actually broke us.Sort of like how I say ‘funny’... but I actually mean sad.
How I wish I could undo it all … take it all back…All those years I spent unhappy with him …. when I should have been looking for you.
In a way, it was the same as any normal break up. You took what was yours …. and I kept what I’d had from before we were together…You took my heart …. and I had nothing…
They say “Follow your heart”….…. But I can’t follow you where you’re going…
They say the truth hurts. And these words hurt more than any I have ever written. But they are the truth – The cold, hard, undeniable truth.Not letting go doesn’t keep him with you.It’s still over. He’s still gone.… And nothing will ever change that.
Perhaps I was easier to shake off for you because you’re such a together person. I was just an extra layer on the outside… like a blanket you could shrug off and feel just the same…. except maybe a little colder….But I was always a broken person that was haphazardly held together by little more than my own strength. And so you just seeped in the cracks and mingled with my insides until you became an inseparable part of me. And as painful as that is, it still kind of warms me to know I will always carry a part of you with me.
It is the deepest of wrongs I am driven to write…. And losing you was one of them.
Your smile and your laughter lit my whole world.
I don’t think you ever really understood….…. All the love I had in the world went to you.
How many times did we pass each other before we met? If only I’d known…. I would have searched for you endlessly.If only I’d found you before it was already too late.
When I was with him suddenly I wasn’t this broken person anymore.I was just me.I was whole again.I was just a person – like everyone else.
With you in my life I felt like I could conquer anything.It was as if I was on top of the world and even the stars themselves were just within my grasp.But without you …. even getting through the day is hard.
I need to stop running back to you in my mind all the time.
Our parting was like a stalemate….Neither of us won. Yet both of us lost.And worse still … that unshakable feeling that nothing was ever really finished.
Though I never really had you….… to me you will always be the one that got away.
You’re everything to me. But at best, I’m just a memory to you.
A kiss….….. is just a kiss….Until it’s all you reminisce.(Then the memory becomes your most treasured possession.)
You can miss places. You can miss people.Just know that what you’re really missing is the way things were. And even if you could go there again…. see them again…. you can’t go back.They’re not the same.You’re not the same.The loss of them changed you.
If you’re searching for a quote that puts your feelings into words – you won’t find it.You can learn every language and read every word ever written – but you’ll never find what’s in your heart.How can you?He has it.
I didn’t love you to seek revenge.I didn’t love you out of loneliness or unhappiness.I didn’t love you for any of the misguided reasons that time might convince you I did.I just loved you because you’re you.
It hurts that I was just one page in the book of your life…But what hurts more is knowing you’ll revise that chapter someday….….. and you’ll erase me completely.
I try to do something positive – I socialise more…But deep down I know the truth.An entire world of people can never replace the one that I’ve lost.
It’s just never going to get any easier is it. It’s never going away, this missing you. It’s going to become a sadness I incorporate into myself – along with all the other sadnesses – and quietly carry around with me forever…
For you are you, and I am I, and once we were we… but as long as I exist and so do you – know that I will always love you.
I still think of you every day.But I’m trying not to let it hurt me with the same intensity that it used to.
There’s only ever been one person I’ve looked at and thought…‘I could quite easily spend the entire rest of my life with that man’.And sooner or later I need to accept that he’s spending it with somebody else.
How do you love someone and just… walk away? Just like that. You just, go on as normal…. You get up, get dressed, go to work… How can you do that? How can you be okay with that?
She wears it so beautifully doesn’t she, her pain… Always smiling, always positive…. always happy to help… It’s like a garment perfectly tailored to fit the way she carries it… with a touch of grace… and the quietness of that sad smile…. All so you’d never know how heavy it really was.
There comes a point where you no longer care if there’s a light at the end of the tunnel or not. You’re just sick of the tunnel.
It didn’t hurt me. Not “hurt”. Hurt is a four letter word. It’s short, almost cute sounding. Aawwww, did that hurt? No. It didn’t hurt. Destroyed, Obliterated, Desecrated, Annihilated, Demolished, Shattered, or Demoralised maybe… But no. It didn’t hurt me. It didn’t “hurt” me at all.
You made me feel worthwhile…. like for once it mattered if I was here or not because I actually meant something to someone…. because I meant something to you. I miss that feeling.
You loved him enough to let him leave… Now you need to love yourself enough to let him go.
Why wait to forgive and let go only after you have sufficiently wallowed in your despair? Why not forgive and let go now?
What's the deal? Why can't he lookinto my eyes when I have words of appreciation lined up for him.Has he simply forgotten how he feels?all his emotions plunged into oblivion.or he is so full to talk about it.He won't confide in mewhich I understand is his choice.I really wish to butI can barely get under his skin.But what I know about him ishe feels very sad andhe has honest eyes.And every broken heart should have a place in this world.He has a place in my heart~
Heartbreak and pain occurs when people love with their heart. It so happens that the heart is not the most vital organ in the body. So when it is 'broken', the body still functions as normal, leaving you alive, but hollow. Next time, love with your brain. So when your lover decides to deceive you, you are not just hollow. You are completely done.
The stars are brilliant at this time of night and I wander these streets like a ritual I don’t dare to break for darling, the times are quite glorious.I left him by the water’s edge,still waving long after the ship was goneand if someone would have screamed my name I wouldn’t have heard for I’ve said goodbye so many times in my short life that farewells are a muscular task and I’ve taught them well. There’s a place by the side of the railway near the lake where I grew up and I used to go there to burry things and start anew. I used to go there to say goodbye. I was young and did not know many people but I had hidden things inside that I never dared to show and in silence I tried to kill them, one way or the other,leaving sin on my body scrubbing tears off with saltand I built my rituals in farewells. Endings I still cling to. So I go to the ocean to say goodbye.He left that morning, the last words still echoing in my headand though he said he’d come back one day I know a broken promise from a right onefor I have used them myself and there is no coming back.Minds like ours are can’t be tamed and the price for freedom is the price we pay.I turned away from the oceanas not to fall for its pleafor it used to seduce and consume meand there was this one nighta few years back and I was not yet accustomed to farewellsand just like now I stood waving long after the ship was gone.But I was younger then and easily fooledand the ocean was deep and dark and blueand I took my shoes off to let the water freeze my bones.I waded until I could no longer walk and it was too cold to swim but still I kept on walking at the bottom of the sea for I could not tell the difference between the ocean and the lack of someone I loved and I had not yet learned how the task of moving on is as necessary as survival.Then days passed by and I spent them with my work and now I’m writing letters I will never dare to send.But there is this one day every year or sowhen the burden gets too heavyand I collect my belongings I no longer needand make my way to the ocean to burn and drown and start anewand it is quite wonderful, setting fire to my chains and flames on written wordsand I stand there, starring deep into the heat until they’re all gone. Nothing left to hold me back.You kissed me that morning as if you’d never done it before and never would again and now I write another letter that I will never dare to send, collecting memories of loss like chains wrapped around my veins,and if you see a fire from the shore tonightit’s my chains going up in flames. The time of moon i quite glorious. We could have been so glorious.
I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,Yea, all the time, because the dance was long;I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
It is usually unbearably painful to read a book by an author who knows way less than you do, unless the book is a novel.
As much as I would really like to have saved myself heartache, embarrassment or gossip, I also know that my biggest mistakes have turned into my best lessons. And sometimes my greatest career triumphs. If my life had been turbulence-free, maybe my music would be beige, maybe the stadiums wouldn’t be full and the mantle would be a little more empty.
My dad had limitations. That's what my good-hearted mom always told us. He had limitations, but he meant no harm. It was kind of her to say, but he did do harm.
Once you embrace your value, talents and strengths, it neutralizes when others think less of you.
The old Amy, the girl of the big laugh and the easy ways, literally shed herself, a pile of skin and soul on the floor, and stepped this new, brittle, bitter Amy ... a razor-wire knot daring me to unloop her, and I was not up to the job with my thick, numb, nervous fingers. Country fingers. Flyover fingers untrained in the intricate, dangerous work of 'solving Amy'. When I'd hold up the bloody stumps, she'd sigh and turn to her secret mental notebooks on which she tallied all my deficiencies, forever noting disappointments, frailties, shortcomings.
I thought I had lowered my standards pretty much, when I decided that any woman would be good for me as long as she respects me. It didn't took me long to realize that would never happen. I was being naive about the real state of the world. It's not that one shouldn't have low standards, or high, or medium, but that most people are such a disgusting representation of themselves, that they can't stop themselves being like this until they die. And maybe they do appreciate what they had when they lose it, but they quickly forget about it when getting it back. Forgiving people that apologize too often has been another naive behavior of mine.
When they got to their hotel she went straight up to bed, but he paused to get a drink. There was, in the vestibule, a flower stall and he bought a handful of roses, stiffly wired into a bouquet, before proceeding to the oppressive gorgeousness of their bridal suite. The lift was lined with looking glass, so that as he shot upwards he got an endlessly duplicated version of himself, stout and nervous, a light cloak flung over his shoulder and flowers in his hand: an infinitely long row of gentlemen carrying offerings to an unforgiving past.
We met at a cross-roads in life,But we were going different directions.We were part of each other's lives,But only for a moment.The first person that you meet in lifeWon't necessarily be the one who's forever.Just look at you and me,And it's not hard to see thatThis is the moment before life goes on.We are still friends;We are still really good friends.Please tell me that you agree.But I'm not the one for you,And you just can't see yourself with me.
People may break your heart and drive you crazily. God is the only dependable person you should rely on.
When I no longer have your heartI will not request your bodyyour presenceor even your polite conversation.I will go away to a far countryseparated from you by the sea— on which I cannot walk —and refrain even from sendinglettersdescribing my pain.
Sometimes you have to give up on people. Not because you don't care but because they don't. A person's actions will tell you everything you need to know. Love yourself enough to say goodbye to those who don't make time for you or don't know how to love you back. Let go of what hurts, even if it hurts to let go." ~ Jennifer Green
Taken from the dedication in my debut novel Exactly 23 days. To honour all women on International Women's day. For women everywhere: When you know you are finally mended, spread the word, hold out your hand, share some love from your heart and some laughter from your soul and be there for a new member of the sisterhood who needs your help. Let's all help our sisters worldwide to stand tall and know, they can and they will recover, survive and thrive, to live the life they deserve. To all the sisters who reached out and held my hand in whatever way you could, who cried my tears with me, and laughter my laughter too, I thank every one of you. I survived.
You see that girl, she looks so happy right? But inside she's dying. She's hurt and tired. Tired of all the drama, tired of not being good enough, tired of life. But she doesn't want to look dramatic, weak or attention seeking so she keeps it all inside. Act's like everything's perfect but she cries at night, boy does she cry at night, so that everybody thinks she is the happiest person they know, that she has no problems and her life is perfect. Little do they know.
Study yourself. Become your own mentor and best friend. When you are suffering stay at the bottom until you find out who you are. Let the storms come and pass. How you walk through the fire says a lot about you. Nobody likes a victimhood mentality and what happened to you is not important. It is about how you use your chaos that matters. The dawn will come
I am a wall. I am a wall. I am a wall. I am a giant and I tower above you. I am a giant and I can't hear your voice. There is familiarity in this. I spent years like this growing up, my mother hovering over my every move, me responding monosyllabically, face blank, voice blank, heart blank. It is a coping mechanism and it is easy, if you are able to block out false promises of love with the understanding of what love has become.
How easily such a thing can become a mania, how the most normal and sensible of women once this passion to be thin is upon them, can lose completely their sense of balance and proportion and spend years dealing with this madness.
If I seem to not want to be with him now, it’s only because love scares me too, more than manipulation, because love is a choice I make and not something forced upon me. I trust him, but I don’t trust myself. I must have time to trust myself so I can completely love him.He’s the grenade. I’m the grenade. We’ll blow each other to pieces… Together.
Tulip hated this feeling. The last time she had felt this way, she had been utterly humiliated and deeply hurt. She couldn't imagine allowing herself to be charmed by another handsome man only to be heartbroken again. But she was different now, wasn't she? Stronger, bolder, and indeed more worldly.
Never give up. Things may be hard, but if you quit trying they'll never get better. Stop worrying and start trusting God. It will be worth it.
And then I realized that love is like a helium balloon. You know the one which flies away into the sky if you don’t hold it by its strings? No matter how much I tried to break my string, the balloon always remained there. Know why? Because maybe unknown to yourself, you were holding a couple of strings as well
Nothing belongs to itself anymore. These trees are yours because you once looked at them. These streets are yours because you once traversed them. These coffee shops and bookshops, these cafés and bars, their sole owner is you. They gave themselves so willingly, surrendering to your perfume. You sang with the birds and they stopped to listen to you. You smiled at the sheepish stars and they fell into your hair. The sun and moon, the sea and mountain, they have all left from heartbreak. Nothing belongs to itself anymore. You once spoke to Him, and then God became yours. He sits with us in darkness now to plot how to make you ours.” K.K.
Today is just another day of trying to get by without you.
Sweet girl, maybe close the world off and look at him for an houror two.This is your fairy. It ain’t perfect and it ain’t honey sweet with roses on the bed.It’s real and raw and ugly at times. But this is your love. Don’t throw it away searching for someone else’s love. Don’t be greedy. Instead, shelter it. Protect it. Capture every second of easy, pull through every storm of hardship. And when you can, look at him, lying next to you, trusting you not to harm him. Trusting you not to go. Be someone’s someone for someone.Be that someone for him.
We all have a " someone " who we carry in our hearts sometimes for an entire lifetime. That one that just doesn't fully remove itself from your journey, reminded at coffee shops through scent and character of a stranger, or a song that you once shared. Years can go by without a thought and then one day you are reminded and it all comes crashing back. The one that could have been, the one that you never knew exactly how to say goodbye to. The one you wish to meet first in another life.
I didn't come looking for you the day you uninvitedly appeared on my doorstepHow did we go from nonchalant conversation me waiting for you to turn me off with corny jokes and mind dumbing conversationto loveTo love and mind blowing chemistry that I've yet to make sense of What are you here to teach me?
What no one ever told me was that sometimes ‘time’ only adds layers to the wounds and if you scratch off the dust years later, you will still find him in your blood and flesh, residing in a vacant house that you thought had no tenants. Time. They never said that time only teaches us regrets.
I HOLDIf I could have had him,I could have let himgo.But withoutthe having there was nothing—so to the nothingIhold.
A POCKET-SIZED GIRLHe keeps me in his pocket for a rainy day; he swears I'm not an object as he yo-yo's me away.A friend is what we'll call it,but my friend, he does not know,each time it rains I love him— so to his pocket, I must go.He thinks he's being clever,but I am not a fool;his love ain't worth a penny,so to my heart I must be cruel.
MY MOONI'll always wonder what time it is there; if you're dreaming, or awake. My moon is your sun; my darkness, your light. I'm in the future, you'd jokingly say.And I know where you are, because I'm watching you from the past.
7amThey said that I’d forget you,and I knew it wasn’t true.But sometimes I wake up now,and my heart’s no longer blue.I press the Keurig button,dancing across the room—Sometimes it’s nearly seven,before I’ve thought of you.And though we sleep together,all night side by side,one day I’ll have my coffeewithout you in my mind.
WORTHYIf you ever decide to feel— feel this:I love you. I always have. I always will.Not because you're charming, beautiful or lovable.But because I choose you.Everyday I wake up and I choose you— again, and again, and again.But if you cannot feel, and if you never feel this, then know:I do not love you. I never have. I never will.Because you're not worth my love.(Come back my love, I am drowning.)
Finding out that you are not your lover’s only lover hurts, but not as much as discovering that you are the side chick … or the side dick.
She had never looked as well. She had entered her room as just an impossibly lovely girl. The woman who emerged was a trifle thinner, a great deal wiser, an ocean sadder. This one understood the nature of pain, and beneath the glory of her features, there was character, and a sure knowledge of suffering.
The worst feelings are the warm, anxious burning that portends your heart breaking followed by the wave of numbness that asphyxiates your soul.
Mastering the art of seduction gives one a great power, and like any power, it's to be wielded with responsibility; a man who wields the art of seduction without a sense of responsibility and restraint is a walking proximity bomb of viral epidemics, needless procreation, heartbroken families, and shattered dreams.
Pain is inevitable, yet suffering is optional. It is our heart connections that make all the difference. When we experience mental, physical, emotional, or spiritual pain – love is the one medicine that transcends any synthetic or organic drug we use to suppress pain.
The hardest part about walking away from someone is the part where you realize that, no matter how slowly you go, they will never run after you.
If I was meant to be controlled, I would have come with a remote.
If ur laptop doesnt smell like fire then ur losing.
Bitch, if I ain't a G, I'm an OG
I'm the G when you spell OG
Missing you,I missed a part of meI shared with you that’s now gone.Missing you, when really, it was the way you made me feeland the things you made us do.Missing you I shouldn’t be.But I can’t help missing who I was with you.Missing you,I missed and missed so much of the world and wasn’t even missed in return.
i dreamt i crawled on top of you and kissed your hips, one at a time, my lips a smolder. i straddled your waist and pressed both shaking hands against your torso. spongy, like an old tree on the forest floor. i push and your flesh sinks inwardly, collapsing with decay, a soft shushing sound. a yawning hole where your organs should be. maggots used to live here until your own poison killed them off. i laid my cheek into the loam and three little mushrooms brushed over my eyelid. peat, decomposing matter, all of it, whatever you wish to call it, rested in the cavity of your chest. and there i planted seeds in the hopes something good would come out of you.
Forgiveness is a transformative act because it asks you to be a more empathetic and compassionate person, thereby making you better than the person you were when you were first hurt.
Heart’s blood and bitter pain belong to love,And tales of problems no one can remove;Cupbearer, fill the bowl with blood, not wine -And if you lack the heart’s rich blood take mine.Love thrives on inextinguishable pain,Which tears the soul, then knits the threads again.A mote of love exceeds all bounds; it givesThe vital essence to whatever lives.But where love thrives, there pain is always found;Angels alone escape this weary round -They love without that savage agonyWhich is reserved for vexed humanity.
Every line, every word was -- in the hackneyed metaphor which their dear writer, were she here, would forbid -- a dagger to my heart. To know that Marianne was in town was -- in the same language -- a thunderbolt. -- Thunderbolts and daggers! -- what a reproof would she have given me! -- her taste, her opinions -- I believe they are better known to me than my own, -- and I am sure they are dearer.
One's suffering, one's melancholy is, in itself, really only looked upon as failure or as punishment, as detestable or sinful or socially unacceptable in the eyes of man; but this is not so in the eyes of God: for He is close to the broken-hearted.
We sometimes have to experience pain for us to have a story to tell. The power to heal from the pain equips us with the strength to rise up again and move beyond it all. We not only become stronger but wise enough to recognize and handle pain in the future. We however, have to learn to let the brick walls fall down so that we can experience true love once more. We must learn from pain and let it lead us to the most beautiful parts of our journey in life. Only then can our stories become fully complete.
Jealousy from a love affair is something even God can admit.
When you have to face up to the fact that marriage to the man you love is really over, that's very tough, sheer agony. In that kind of harrowing situation, I always go away and cut myself off from the world. Also, I sober up immediately when there is genuine bad news in my life; I never face it with alcohol in my brain. I just rented a house in Palm Springs and sat there and just suffered for a couple of weeks. I suffered there until I was strong enough to face it.
George stared at the dove. What would she say if she could speak to him? What would she wish for, for her father? For she, too, had been harmed by a man who had meant to show his utmost love for her.It made George wonder why love was suppose to be such a wonderful thing. As far as he could tell, love was just another excuse for causing pain.
The mighty trojans fell, and so did i.A wooden horse you were not, yet in a pool of my own blood i lie.Dawn follows every dusk, and all that rises - fall it must.So, my blood shall find its way and trickle down your eyes.The day your deeds of today, eventually make you cry.
The first time my heart broke, I thought back tothe day in my childhood when a piece of glass wentthrough my finger after an ill-fated cartwheel.I was eleven years old.My mother and I were in our bathroom cleaningup the wound. She dribbled peroxide onto the cut.It fizzed and burned; I winced at the pain.It needs to burn so you know it’s healing,she explained.That small exchange during my adolescence helpedme learn to appreciate the pain pulsating from mybroken heart. In spite of the severity of my wound,I knew the healing process had already begun.
Let it hurt. Pick those flowers on your lungs and let it wither. Let your heart stop beating for someone who doesn’t deserves it. Let yourself be burn to your worst degree. Fall right down on your knees and scream the damn pain inside you. You’ve let the love to do its work, let it hurt. That’s part of its work.Let it bleed. Let the tears roll down your face. For once, allow yourself to be an artist. Let your mouth bleed with the unspoken feelings you’ve been wanting to say and be the author of your own story. Let the abstract in you be seen by the people who are doubting you. Do not cut your wrist, blood and scar might ruin your skin. I know, your heart was cut by the words they’ve stabbed on you, let it bleed with poetry and speak for yourself.Let it heal. For how many times people could’ve told you that time heals. Let me now tell you that it’s you, and you only, who could heal yourself. You could pick your broken pieces and build a better and stronger you. Let it heal, not for anyone. Let it heal for yourself. Even for once, let it be for yourself.And let it go. Snap out of the darkness you’re in right now. Let go of the pain that’s stopping you from moving forward. Let the toxic people go, you could’ve been better without them. Stop holding on to the anchor. Stop drowning yourself from sadness. You could always be happy. Just learn to let go of the things that keep you away from that possibility, just let go.
All at once, she was confronted with the full understanding of it. And if she admitted it to herself, she could only be left with the grotesque truth. She didn’t want to let go of the pain. She didn’t want it to be lessened. She wanted to carry it. And whatever path she took from this point forward would serve to take it away.
Life cracks us into unrecognizable shards of former incarnations. Slivers of our hurt and our pain and our shame nestles next to fragments of our truth, our divinity, our fierce reclamation of power.It is this very brokenness that allows us to knit together, kaleidoscope style. And we spin and shift and turn to the light until we appear brilliant, lit from within. Suddenly we are revealed; unexpected beauty born directly from brokenness.We have to be willing to break in order to become.
Taking the Right Decision in any situation only requires TWO major ingredients:Critical Thinking and Grace.Critical Thinking is like 'Works' and Grace is like 'Faith'. So if "Faith without Works is dead," then same, I believe, goes for Works without Faith.Like the two sides of a coin, one without the other just won't make any sense. And if the coin ever has a third side, it will never be 'Emotions' or 'Sentiments' because they both have zero IQ.
All lies, freckled vows, crying-weeping on your toesExpected jelly beans gusto, got yourself a life imperfectoToo good a gal, too arrogant a galToo independent, too in need of ChanelTook a careless ride, leaped for a perilous dive Now look who thrived, who gave you a vibe. - Chicken In Chicken Out
Alcohol ruined me financially and morally, broke my heart and the hearts of too many others. Even though it did this to me and it almost killed me and I haven't touched a drop of it in seventeen years, sometimes I wonder if I could get away with drinking some now. I totally subscribe to the notion that alcoholism is a mental illness because thinking like that is clearly insane.
I'm here!" I said..."I'm read to go home!" As if they couldn't see me. As if I couldn't remember what it had been like, fluttering next to someone's ear and whispering into it. How the whole earth was like a musical instrument that we could play effortlessly....I could not fly. My sister was not there. My heart was broken.
They say the heart is just a muscle. They say it plays absolutely no role in our emotions and that its use as a symbol for love is based on archaic theories of it being the seat of the soul or something ridiculous like that. But as I quietly listened to every word she was saying to me, as each syllable shot a sharp arrow through the phone and into my ear, I swear I felt like my entire chest would collapse in on itself. I knew this feeling. They say a heart can't really break because there's nothing to be broken. But see, I once had to leave everyone I loved, and it felt this same way.
He started to estrange her... And they became strangers Who knew each other's heart, So broken as they drifted apart.
The saddest noise in the world is that of a heart breaking.
Nothing is sweeter than being unapologetically you. Don't live your life just to impress others. Reveal your truth, Express your love, Live your dreams.
Lingering, bottled-up anger never reveals the 'true colors' of an individual. It, on the contrary, becomes all mixed up, rotten, confused, forms a highly combustible, chemical compound then explodes as something foreign, something very different than one's natural self.
I looked inward at my heart. And indeed, there too, the criss-cross corsetry was slackened and gaping. I was all undone. Potentially, I could spill. Or tangle. And so I began to tug at my own heartstrings, pulling them up tight until there was just the right amount of tension at each criss and each cross. Then I bent down to my boots and laced them firmly too, first the left, then the right, finishing off on each side with a surgeon's shoelace knot.
Then he pulled out a handgun and shot me in the chest. I was standing on the lawn and I fell. The bullet hole opened wide and my heart rolled out of my rib cage and down into a flower bed. Blood gushed rhythmically from my open wound,then from my eyes,my ears,my mouth.It tasted like salt and failure. The bright red shame of being unloved soaked the grass in front of our house, the bricks of the path, the steps of the porch. My heart spasmed among the peonies like a trout.
Gone are the summer daysand my mind along with them.No longer will I indulgein hopes of getting you back.It is hope that makes these chains heavierand autumnal nights longer.I will merely serve as a memory to you:the lover that recited love poems.I must go nowand I urge you not to look back.
They tell us the only way to move on is to forget.“Forgive,” they say.Realise that you deserve better.That maybe they deserve better.You can't fight fire with fire.Extinguish it once and for all."Do not look back," they say.They don't tell you that only one thing is needed. Only one:love.When you are filled to the brim with love,you only emanate love.You become lover and love itself.Only then will you love even the very people you wish to hate.
All the things that people do in order to show that they don't need anybody... meanwhile, all they really want to do is say, "Please keep me." We all want to be kept. The problem is we are too afraid to let anyone know about it. What are these fragile things in our hearts that have so much fear of being broken?
He became so gloomy that she asked him, at last, if he was worried about anything. He assured her, instantly, that he was the happiest man in the world. And he was. At times he was almost bewildered by his own bliss in being there, with Tony, so terribly dear, beside him; really his own for the rest of his life. It was not her fault if the insatiable sorrows of an unequal love tormented him, the hungry demand for more, for a fuller return, for a feeling which it was not in her nature to give. As she leaned forward, absorbed in the passions staged beneath her, he felt suddenly that their box contained just himself and a wraith, a ghost; as if the real Antonia, whom he loved, was an imagined woman living only in his sad fancy.
You can’t be friends with someone you have feelings for. It’ll just be a constant reminder of what you can’t have. It’s like putting boiling water in an ice cold glass. It’s gonna bust and make a mess.
The words ‘I love you’ are worthless when you don’t know who the 'I' is in that statement.
I’d have to prove to everyone, including Ellia, that I was more than some guy she used to know, that what we shared had and still mattered. She may have forgotten the promise we made on the beach, but I hadn’t, and it was up to me to backup those words with action. Memories and ghosts were for the dead. Living things moved, and I was never one to stand still." ~Liam
She was my go-to person. I’d tell her everything. Now, all of those late-night phone calls, all the sleepovers at her house because I couldn’t deal with stuff at home, all the crying on her shoulder. It’s all gone. It’s like if she doesn’t know, then it didn’t happen, and if it didn’t happen then what exactly am I holding on to?” ~Stacey
Who cares about fault? As my dad would say, ‘Blame is like your rear-end and reflection. Seeing either always leaves you looking back.’ I’m more worried about what’s in front of me. And right now . . . the view is all messed up.” ~ Ellia
It’s like returning to a familiar room and noticing objects had been moved while you were gone—a chair here, a picture frame there. Items that were once brand new were suddenly broken in and worn from age. It was all very subtle, but enough to suspect paranormal activity or a cruel practical joke. When no one else saw what you saw, the freak factor really kicked in, because you were singled out and left questioning reality." ~Ellia
Hope can be foolish or misguided, but there was no such thing as false hope. Hope was always true even when there was no evidence to support its claim.” - Liam
Love is not for thrill-seekers, dreamers, or children with short attention spans. And you, son, fit into all three of those categories.
If You Love me..--Your love drove metowards the live volcanowhere i will be burnt and destroyedOn your fake promises I made castles on air Oh! ! ! I was throwingsome pearls in desertwhere oasis has value Pearls have no value just remember I am an oceanyou are only a boat for a boat to explore oceanlove need to be daring, desperate If You love mePlant a seed of truthmake me part of your missingJust If you Love me.........
Desire For Thee"My desire to love theeis just like a tree, must have one rootbut several branches of fruitI want to make you feel as if you are horizon i steal you are as free as wind where my love flows in swingi see thee in glaze shadow around a graceful presence on passion groundthat is "THEE" you spark everywhereEverywhere am far and near.
The end occurred mostly in her whispers and his silence - because he couldn't whisper and they didn't want to wake Colin's parents. They succeeded in staying quiet, in part because it felt like the air had been shocked out of him. Paradoxically, he felt as if his getting dumped was the only thing happening on the entire dark and silent planet, and also as if it weren't happening at all. He felt himself drifting away from the one-sided whispered conversation, wondering if maybe everything big and heartbreaking and incomprehensible is a paradox.
Have you ever longed for someone so much, so deeply that you thought you would die? That your heart would just stop beating? I am longing now, but for whom I don't know. My whole body craves to be held. I am desperate to love and be loved. I want my mind to float into another's. I want to be set free from despair by the love I feel for another. I want to be physically part of someone else. I want to be joined. I want to be open and free to explore every part of them, as though I were exploring myself.
That's most interesting. But I was no more a mind-reader then than today. Iwas weeping for an altogether different reason. When I watched you dancing that day, I saw something else. I saw a new world coming rapidly. Morescientific, efficient, yes. More cures for the old sicknesses. Very good. But aharsh, cruel world. And I saw a little girl, her eyes tightly closed, holding to her breast the old kind world, one that she knew in her heart could notremain, and she was holding it and pleading, never to let her go. That is what I saw. It wasn't really you, what you were doing, I know that. But I saw you and it broke my heart. And I've never forgotten.
She kept hoping something would change, but she knew she'd lost him to a world she could never be part of. So instead she pretended. Pretended to be strong. Pretended everything was alright. Pretended for Michael, for herself, but most of all for Willow. Because Willow loved Michael, and he, her – that much was obvious.
She kept hoping something would change, but she knew she'd lost him to a world she could never be part of. So instead she pretended.Pretended to be strong.Pretended everything was alright.Pretended for Michael, for herself, but most of all for Willow. Because Willow loved Michael, and he, her – that much was obvious
Perfect love, like perfect partner does not exist. We create our own perfect love. If you care to know, a a good partner is like a construction engineer. To build the kind of house he want, he must pick the material that best suits his needs and maybe his wallet too.
When you love someone you have chosen to relinquish a part of yourself in order to inherit a part of them, and what perpetuates that love is the feeling of confident appreciation for such a potentially debilitating trade. That's why heartbreak feels like a sudden void.
Love is when unknowingly I am moving to a world of no return, Where my desire and your fragrance together burnall your thoughts in canvas of my mind and soulturns in to a masterpiece as my life's aim and goal looks I am taken over and over away by you showering in me as a rain of you and only you
That I’ve horrified many flight attendants across the globe with my oft-thought morbid ritual of listening to Tuesday’s Gone as we fly through the sky is not my concern. My declaration evident, my truth now burns: there is no preordained destiny to battle, I thumb my nose at fate. I am a warrior. The rules don’t apply.
Everything since the beginning of time was working together to make my happiness possible: and then you. You walked into the audiovisual lab in your flannel shirt...and you fucked it up! You fucked everything up! Do you understand that? Because of you, the entire universe is ruined...forever!"--Kari, The Pavilion
I could write about how I feel when I sing, write and create something from heartbreak, sorrow, sadness or just simply nothingness. How nothingness can become the most beautiful, unexplainable feeling that makes you forget about gravity for an hour.
No reflection was to be allowed now, not one glance was to be cast back; not even one forward. Not one thought was to be given either to the past or the future. The first was a page so heavenly sweet, so deadly sad, that to read one line of it would dissolve my courage and break down my energy. The last was an awful blank, something like then world when the deluge was gone by.
... but I could also write about love. How a hand can silence thousands of voices and how someone’s smell can make you feel at home even though you’re a million miles away fromhomeand have you ever hurt someone you love? Because you’re angry. Because you’re disappointed and sad and you just really wanted to love and be loved in returnbut life got in the way and you both said things that should never be said and you’re angry but don’t know how to. Because you still feel this strange love for him, but you’re also fucking angry and you want to hit him, but then hug him because hurting him is hurting yourself, and then hit him again because you’re angry! and so you fall on your knees because you’re hopeless to yourself and your own emotionsand that’s love, my friend.
The Temperature is RisingThe heartbeat quickens my breath is controlled,my senses are illuminated like a mother to her young. This feeling I have I've know it before, when the gates are opened I'll remember the beginning. Awaiting, dreaming imagining the endless possibilities of moments together as I give into my desires. My body reacts it has a mind of its own leaving little clues yet I continue on. Poised and professional I cross my origin the passion that awaits it stirs like a simmer. The sweet aroma a treat being made just for him I know he will like, the hunger in his eyes his mouth soft and strong it only took me a moment as he continued to look on. I didn't even recognize my sound as I was in a sphere all alone I hoped and imagined it would be but my mind was left in awe like sweet chocolate after a meal.
...being Lulu, it made me realize that all my life I've been living in a small, square room, with no windows and no doors. And I was fine. I was happy, even. I thought. Then someone came along and showed me there was a door in the room. One that I'd never even seen before. Then he opened it for me. Held my hand as I walked through it. And for one perfect day, I was on the other side. I was somewhere else. Someone else. And then he was gone, and I was thrown back into my little room. And now, no matter what I do, I can't seem to find that door.
I am starting to acceptthat you never loved me.And it's sadbecause I don't think you seehow beautiful you are to me.Your face was the lightthat chased away the shadows,every nightmare, every fear.But you burned out and nowI'm learning to be afraidof the dark once again.
Macbeth: How does your patient, doctor?Doctor: Not so sick, my lord, as she is troubled with thick-coming fancies that keep her from rest.Macbeth: Cure her of that! Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with some sweet oblivious antidote cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon her heart.Doctor: Therein the patient must minister to himself.
Coming down for the thousandth time, I'm perched on the precipice of a billion broken promises. I'm speeding through the intersections of my own broken heartstrings, blowing red lights and ignoring red flags. I'm thinking, 'history repeats itself.' I'm wondering why. The world outside is still happening also.
I think maybe, when I was very young, I witnessed a chaste cheek kiss between the two when it was impossible to avoid. Christmas, birthdays. Dry lips. On their best married days, their communications were entirely transactional: 'We're out of milk again.' (I'll get some today.) 'I need this ironed properly.' (I'll do that today.) 'How hard is it to buy milk?' (Silence.) 'You forgot to call the plumber.' (Sigh.) 'Goddammit, put on your coat, right now, and go out and get some goddamn milk. Now.' These messages and orders brought to you by my father, a mid-level phonecompany manager who treated my mother at best like an incompetent employee.
Rain is a lullaby heard through a thick, isolating blanket of clouds. It is the tinkling harp of water droplets; a moist breath whistling through willow reeds; a pattering beat background to the mourner's melody. Rain is a soft song of compassion for the brokenhearted.
The light in that room was a glow; I seem to remember the color green, or perhaps flowers. A pale green sheet covered his inert body but not his head, which lay (eyes closed, mouth set in a tense and terrible grimace) unmoving. Gianluca. Barely able to see, barely able to stand - my knees kept buckling – and breathing so quietly I thought that I, too, might die; that out of shock, I would just drift away, the shell of my body cracking open. No longer anchored by my brother’s love, I would be reabsorbed by sky. Gianluca. If there was never another sound in the world, I would understand – yes, that would be appropriate, it would be fitting. This was the antithesis of music, the antithesis of noise. My brother’s death seemed to demand silence of all the world. Gianluca.
Sometimes I can feel my darkness, like a fragment of nerves inside of me somewhere, sparking my hate. I picture it moving throughout my body, the other cells letting it pass by, yielding to its master. It moves to my tongue when it wants me to spew beautiful, damaging words, it moves to my hands when it wants me to feel all it can take away, and it moves to my eyes to blind me from truly seeing the destruction I’ve done.
I don't like forgetting, Elías," I said with my eyes closed. A single tear slipped down my cheek and I let it. "I don't want to forget these moments that constantly remind me of who I am, who I was, and who you are. I don't want to forget my past and all the things about this world that's brought me here. With you.""So then why do you try?" he asked, his gaze searching my face. "Be here with me, T. Exist with me, because there isn't any other way I'd love you more.""I-I don't belong to you.""Bullshit. You've belonged to me since that night on the alabaster hill. I had you then, and I swore to keep you.""You-""Just stop." Eli placed a finger to my lips as he held me closely and slid a hand down my back. He palmed my shoulder and the place where a piece of him would forever harbor. "Stop making up excuses. Stop hiding. Stop running from me. You're the light at the end of my tunnel, my saving grace, and you don't even know it, Trinity.
Love is not a thing you can pick up and throw into the gutter and pick up again as the fancy takes you. I am a person, very unfortunately for you, with a quite peculiar dread of thrusting myself or my affections on any one, of in any way outstaying my welcome. The man I would love would be the man I could trust to love me for ever. I do not trust you. I did outstay my welcome once. I did get thrown into the gutter, and came near drowning in that sordid place.
It's a shame you left without a word, you know. She was just beginning to trust you before that. Before you got angry. Before you ran off. Just like every other man in her life. Lusting after her, full of sweet words, then just walking away. Leaving her alone. Good thing she's used to it by now, isn't it? Otherwise you might have hurt her. Otherwise you just might have broken that poor girl's heart
You’re thinking, maybe it would be easier to let it sliplet it gosay ”I give up” one last time and give him a sad smile.You’re thinkingit shouldn’t be this hard,shouldn’t be this dark,thinkinglove could flow easily with no holding backand you’ve seen others find their match and build something greattogether,of each other,like two halves fitting perfectly and now they achieve great thingsone by one, always together, and it seems grand.But you love him. Love him like a black stone in your chest you couldn’t live without because it fits in there. Makes you who you are and the thought of him gone—no more—makes your chest tighten up and maybe this is your fairytale. Maybe this is your castle.You could get it all on a shiny piece of glass with wooden stools and a neverending blooming gardenbut that’s not yours. This is yours. The cracks and the faults, the ugly words in the winterwalking home alone and angrybut falling asleep thinking you love him.This is your fairy tale. The quiet in the hallway, wishing for him to turn around, tell you to stay, tell you to please don’t go I need youlike you need meand maybe it’s not a Jane Austen novel but this is your novel and your castleand you can run from it your whole life but this is herein front of you.Maybe nurture it?Sweet girl, maybe close the world off and look at him for an houror two.This is your fairy. It ain’t perfect and it ain’t honey sweet with roses on the bed.It’s real and raw and ugly at times. But this is your love. Don’t throw it away searching for someone else’s love. Don’t be greedy. Instead, shelter it. Protect it. Capture every second of easy, pull through every storm of hardship. And when you can, look at him, lying next to you, trusting you not to harm him. Trusting you not to go. Be someone’s someone for someone.Be that someone for him.That’s your fairy tale. This is your castle.Now move in. Build a home. Build a house. Build a safety around things you love. It’s yours if you make it so.Welcome home, sweet girl, it will be all be fine.
Love is just like the flower; it has hidden depths that we rarely ever explore. Beneath the surface lies a network of roots. You can admire the flower for what it is, or you can dig deeper. The more you dig, the more you will find. The real reasons we love a person sometimes exist in the darkest and deepest part of us, the part that knows no logic…or rationale.
You see, because [Norfolk is] stuck out here on the east, on this hump jutting into the sea, it's not on the way to anywhere. People going north and south, they bypass it altogether. For that reason, it's a peaceful corner of England, rather nice. But it's also something of a lost corner.'Someone claimed after the lesson that Miss Emily had said Norfolk was England's 'lost corner' because that was were all the lost property found in the country ended up.Ruth said one evening, looking out at the sunset, that 'when we lost something precious, and we'd looked and looked and still couldn't find it, then we didn't have to be completely heartbroken. We still had that last bit of comfort, thinking one day, when we were grown up, and we were free to travel the country, we could always go and find it again in Norfolk.
Okay.' I can feel the letters vomit off my tongue.O.K.A. Y.I watch the vet insert the syringe into the catheter and inject the second drug. And then the adventures come flooding back:The puppy farm.The gentle untying of the shoelace.THIS! IS! MY! HOME! NOW!Our first night together.Running on the beach.Sadie and Sophie and Sophie Dee.Shared ice-cream cones.Thanksgivings.Tofurky.Car rides.Laughter.Eye rain.Chicken and rice.Paralysis.Surgery.Christmases.Walks.Dog parks.Squirrel chasing.Naps.Snuggling.'Fishful Thinking.'The adventure at sea.Gentle kisses.Manic kisses.More eye rain.So much eye rain.Red ball.The veterinarian holds a stethoscope up to Lily's chest, listening for her heartbeat.All dogs go to heaven.'Your mother's name is Witchie-Poo.' I stroke Lily behind her ears the way that used to calm her. 'Look for her.'OH FUCK IT HURTS.I barely whisper. 'She will take care of you.
What was wrong with her? Why did things like this keep happening to her? Love wasn't supposed to hurt, yet it felt like all she knew when it came to love was pain. Every time she opened her heart, she just got burned. Or, in this case, frozen. And she was getting sick and tired of it.
I’m passing the bar Where you first got in my car I’m not ashamed to admit That it’s you I won’t forget I saved your cigarettes andBad habits I regret But the hours flew by like cloudsWhenever I had you around Parachute loverTake me awayFrom the plane that went crashing And the earth that’s in flamesSaving you is saving me High above the redwood treesBut down below I see shadows And parachute debris We're drifting like children Along for the rideEach time we find love Another parachute arrivesOur madness will burn As bright as the sunAnd I’ll keep finding lovers But you were the one
I stood in your doorway this morningdreaming you’d turn aroundyou’d tilt your headyou’d softly whisper ”stay”or that you’d grab my armsto shake me while askingwhat the hell are we doingwe loveeach otherand this is not rightso we will make this worknow stay!You poured your coffee. Stirred the spoon like a crystal manwith your back to me and not a sound. the fridge humming elegies while the clock ticked onand the streets are so clean here people rushing to workand maybe I should be tooby nowat this agethis stagethis town.I will stand in that doorway dreamingfor many nights to come.
Turn off your phone, and your computer and your mind. Find your heart center and send it compassion. See the holiness in everyone you meet. Honor it.Know your worth. Know your worth. Know your worth.Accept no less. Become familiar with the space where compromise is unkind. Nurture your exquisite loneliness. Let it teach you. Light candles at every opportunity. Always wear perfume, it helps you remember yourself. Touch your inked ribs lightly when you forget who you are.
I'm in self-imposed exile, cradled between split branches, in my favorite tree in the woods behind school. I've been coming here every day at lunch, hiding out until the bell rings, whittling words into the branches with my pen, allowing my heart to break in private.
Here are the things I want for you -I want you to be happy. I want someone else to know the warmth of your smile, to feel the way I did when I was in your presence.I want you to know how happy you once made me and though you really did hurt me, in the end, I was better for it. I don't know if what we had was love, but if it wasn't, I hope to never fall in love. Because of you, I know I am too fragile to bear it.I want you to remember my lips beneath your fingers and how you told me things you never told another soul. I want you to know that I have kept sacred, everything you had entrusted in me and I always will.Finally, I want you to know how sorry I am for pushing you away when I had only meant to bring you closer. And if I ever felt like home to you, it was because you were safe with me. - I want you to know that most of all.
Once I was in the cold dim room, without furniture or carpet or rugs, only a dollhouse that wasn't as wonderful as the original, I opened the tall and narrow closet door and began my ascent up the steep and narrow stairs. On my way to the attic.On my way to where I'd find my Christopher, again...
By the time we hit our forties, we've all known pain--it's been layered on us like so many coats of paint. Who's to say which heartbreak is the greatest: Losing a child or never having a romantic relationship? Surviving cancer or having a mentally ill son? All painful life events gouge deep furrows and cause emotions to bleed out of us--shock, sorrow, and dismay. Through these tragedies, we are constantly rediscovering ourselves, peeling off the personas we've created to fit in socially and reaching for the unaltered seed of self within us. We'll never completely know our raw core--never completely be able to separate the white of external influences from the yolk of our true selves. But we can ask the questions, keep on with the quest.
No. I don´t think it does go away. I know it won´t for me. I will keep busy. I will distract myself. I will eventually have days when I don´t have to remind myself to breathe. I know Nasrin will exist, maybe even be happy, and I will be okay. I ´ll bury my love, but it will never really go away.
If you’re really listening, if you’re awake to the poignant beauty of the world, your heart breaks regularly. In fact, your heart is made to break; its purpose is to burst open again and again so it can hold evermore wonders. -Andrew Harvey
Come up into the hills, O my young love. Return! O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again, as first I knew you in the timeless valley, where we shall feel ourselves anew, bedded on magic in the month of June. There was a place where all the sun went glistening in your hair, and from the hill we could have put a finger on a star. Where is the day that melted into one rich noise? Where the music of your flesh, the rhyme of your teeth, the dainty languor of your legs, your small firm arms, your slender fingers, to be bitten like an apple, and the little cherry-teats of your white breasts? And where are all the tiny wires of finespun maidenhair? Quick are the mouths of earth, and quick the teeth that fed upon this loveliness. You who were made for music, will hear music no more: in your dark house the winds are silent. Ghost, ghost, come back from that marriage that we did not foresee, return not into life, but into magic, where we have never died, into the enchanted wood, where we still life, strewn on the grass. Come up into the hills, O my young love: return. O lost, and by the wind grieved ghost, come back again.
I could feel my insides sink. My knees too. So I sat on the ground, against the wall, letting it support me. I thought I knew what heartbreak felt like. I thought heartbreak was me, standing alone at the prom. That was nothing. This, this was heartbreak. The pain in your chest, the ache behind your eyes. The knowing that things will never be the same again. It’s all relative, I suppose. You think you know love, you think you know real pain, but you don’t. You don’t know anything.
I was tired of well-meaning folks, telling me it was time I got over being heartbroke. When somebody tells you that, a little bell ought to ding in your mind. Some people don't know grief from garlic grits. There's somethings a body ain't meant to get over. No I'm not suggesting you wallow in sorrow, or let it drag on; no I am just saying it never really goes away. (A death in the family) is like having a pile of rocks dumped in your front yard. Every day you walk out and see them rocks. They're sharp and ugly and heavy. You just learn to live around them the best way you can. Some people plant moss or ivy; some leave it be. Some folks take the rocks one by one, and build a wall.
One celestial quake and the timeline belonging to her had imploded in the heavens like a dying star. It was like falling into oblivion, she thought wearily, the tattered remains of her life floated—unanchored in a vacuum of what was and what little remained.
She put her head in her hands and began to cry softly. He felt confused and bitterly unhappy. A part of him wanted to go to her, to hold and comfort her, but he wasn’t prepared to be pushed away in cold anger all over again. He waited in his chair and felt the room expand until there was an emptiness the size of the desert between them.
Nothing big ever happens, good or bad, unless the floor falls out first.Let your longing wind you down through that spiral. And know that falling can be the most wickedly awesome and totally safe thing you’ve ever done. Down, down, down, because when you hit that solid ground you’ll know.You might touch down softly, or you might land in an ungraceful thud. But land you will and when you’re ready, you can stretch your shaky legs, dust yourself off tossing your head back to the heavens and proclaim ‘Here I am! All that I am, and all that I will be.”And your heart will still love what it loves. And you will remember that was good in you, and in her. And these memories will comfort and will serve you as you move through life, open to love – wherever and whenever it finds you.
All I was aware of was this hole, this gaping hole where my heart should have been. I read somewhere once that your heart is supposed to be the same size as your clenched fist, but this hole felt far bigger. It seemed to expand over my whole upper body and it felt cold, vacant - the cooling wind seemed to cut right through it. I felt frail and insubstantial, as if the wind could have blown me away.
I managed to ask a question that had been burning inside me. “Do you still love her? Rose?” Along with not knowing what it felt like to be in love, I also didn’t know how long it took to recover from love.Adrian’s smile faded. His gaze turned inward. “Yes. No. It’s hard to get over someone like that. She had a huge effect on me, both good and bad. That’s hard to move past. I try not to think about her much in terms of love and hate. Mostly I’m trying to get on with my life. With mixed results, unfortunately.
My heart broke when he died, split in half and fell down into my stomach or somewhere deep and muddy, and I'm still not sure where it is now. I hear it beating sometimes in my ears, or feel its fast pulse in my neck, like I do now; but in my chest, where it should be, it mostly just feels empty.
Take heart now in one true thing: You will gain traction. You will grow upwards even when you think you’ve been slammed back down into that same dark hole. It will start looking like a different hole, one that might still have youcurled up and crying, but that crying will be more transformative than only desperate screams of despair. Your pain can be turned to good account. You’re not alone. You’ve gotthis handbook. Keep us with you.
An English teacher at school once said to her, 'Alice, one thing I hope you never find out is that a broken heart hurts physically.' Nothing she has ever experienced has prepared her for the pain of this. Most of the time her heart feels as though it's waterlogged and her ribcage, her arms, her back, her temples, her legs all ache in a dull, persistent way: but at times like this the incredulity and the appalling irreversibility of what has happened cripple her with a pain so bad she often doesn't speak for days.
What Karen wants to do - needs to do - is cry, but she can't. Here, alone, when she could howl, beat the sofa cushions, scream; now, somehow, she is unable. It's for fear that if she gives in to it, she'll lose all sense of who she is. She is afraid that if she falls apart in private, then she'll fall apart completely. That if she crumbles, like a house in an earthquake, she will disappear down some deep, dark crevasse, and never be able to pull herself out and put herself back together again.
In my experience, there never seems to be a man or woman who will walk in and literally sweep you off your feet, or away, when you're in the biggest distaster of your life. If it happens, it'll be guaranteed he or she won't be the one you've longed for. Yeah...we all still seem to be waiting for Mr. or Ms. Right.
She felt her in her heart all the time now, yearning for her lost love and lamenting for past mistakes. The Lady’s grief was overwhelming sometimes, making Sofia sad for no reason at all, especially at night when the world around her grew quiet and there were no distractions.
We recognize that you've used substances to try to regain your lost balance, to try to feel the way you did before the need arose to use addictive drugs or alcohol. We know that you use substances to alter your mood, to cover up your sadness, to ease your heartbreak, to lighten your stress load, to blur your painful memories, to escape your hurtful reality, or to make your unbearable days or nights bearable.
He was acting like our kiss had broken him, and his reaction was breaking me.
The act was an exorcism of relief for Florentino Ariza, for when he put the violin back into its case and walked down the dead streets without looking back, he no longer felt that he was leaving the next morning but that he had gone away many years before with the irrevocable determination never to return.
Home at last. Why was I not feeling relief? I turn in m bed thinking of the last time that I had laid my head on that pillow. Sadness took over me almost instantly. A pillow soaked in tears, the feeling of someone tearing a part of my chest out, it replayed in my head as if it had happened yesterday. I coculdn't believe that that girl was me. I was so much stronger than that, how had I allowed myself to become so vulnerable? I never thought that I would be the girl who'd get her heart broken. I never thought that he'd be the one to break it. But I was, and I know he did. I know, because, no one will ever know how much I cried that night.
And when I looked outside the window, something inside of me churned, swallowing hard I looked up and saw blue. I squeezed my eyes shut, holding back the tears and emotions that were swelling inside of me. And then I realized, the only time that I could feel anything at all, was when I could feel him.
Maybe everyone does have a novel in them, perhaps even a great one. I don't believe it, but for the purposes of this argument, let's say it's so. Only a few of us are going to be willing to break our own hearts by trading in the living beauty of imagination for the stark disappointment of words.
I have met so many heartbroken men. It's a catastrophe. Women are easily overcome by the process that happens when a boy falls in love and becomes a man. Men's hearts are so often broken. Still, you have to leave your broken heart in a place where- when the woman who knows how to see what a gift is, sees it- your broken heart can be picked up again. I think that it takes a very strong woman (inner strength) to be able to handle a man falling in love with her, without morphing into a monster (the process is a very potent process, it can poison a woman, really). A woman thinks she wants a man to fall in love with her for all the perks that come with it; but when a real love really does happen, when a real man shows his manhood; it's often too powerful a thing to endure without being poisoned. Hence, all the heartbroken men. But, I do believe that there are strong women in the world today. A few. But there are. You could say, that the mark of a real woman, is a woman who can handle a man- a man falling in love with her. A woman who can recognize that, and keep it with her.
The mark of a real man, is a man who can allow himself to fall deeply in love with a woman. But the reason why a man is often heartbroken, is because a woman can become overcome by the reality that she has made a man out of a boy, because it's just such an overwhelming process, a beautiful and powerful evolution. Therefore, a man needs to fall in love with a woman who knows that men don't happen every day, and when a man does happen, that's a gift! A gift not always given, and one that shouldn't be thrown away so easily.
If people will be frank enough to tell you their heart issues, you will realize that there are so many things that will leave your jaws open! You will realize that things are just representing things under the sun. You will understand the realities and fantasies better and you will know how to deal with heart issues! You will know what true love is and you will get a better picture of pretense! You will understand the small things that mean a lot to so many people and you shall know the big things that mean nothing to so many people! You will know why people can’t sleep and you will know why so many people sleep soundly! You will understand the real reasons behind the attitude and behavior of people and you shall know the real meaning of wants and needs from the lenses of peoples heart! You will know why people give up and you will have a better understanding why some people dare unrelentingly to be remembered for something unique when you get to know things that are on people’s heart. The heart is a room with so many issues!
Trust the vibes you get, energy doesn’t lie.
Hey lady.” Sandy wrapped her arms around Darcy’s neck and kissed her cheek quickly. “So, are we burning anything of his in some occult ritual that will curse him and all his unborn children till the end of their days, or are we just going to key his car?
He remembered how nice the kids at Camp Half-Blood had been to him after the war with Kronos. Great job, Nico! Thanks for bringing the armies of the Underworld to save us! Everybody smiled. They all invited him to sit at their table. After about a week, his welcome wore thin. Campers would jump when he walked up behind them. He would emerge from the shadows at the campfire, startle somebody and see the discomfort in their eyes: Are you still here? Why are you here? It didn’t help that immediately after the war with Kronos, Annabeth and Percy had started dating … Nico set down his fartura. Suddenly it didn’t taste so good.
When you’re finally finished crying, I hope you run as fast and as far as you possibly can from me. When you land, out of breath, and I’m finally out of sight, finally out of mind, you’ll be honestly fine. All wounds will be healed. All fires will be extinguished. I’ll be a memory. Feel free to repress me.
I didn't let her go. She went. It's not my fault.She did it.She could undo it. This is feeling so fucking famliar.Why do we even bother? Why do we make ourselves so open to such easy damage? Is it all loneliness? Is it all fear? Of is it just to experience those narcotic moments of belonging with someone else?
Mostly she just missed Vaughn. Missed all those quiet, unspectacular moments that, when added up, showed how entwined their lives had become. And right now, she missed being able to phone him, because it would be so easy to tap in the eleven digits that would put his voice on the line. ‘Grace, about bloody time,’ he’d say, and make it sound like an endearment.But she couldn’t call Vaughn, because she’d left him. Which was a novelty, until Grace remembered that he’d have left her eventually if she hadn’t done it first. She was never the one. She was never even the one before the one. She was the girl who seemed like a good idea at the time, but ultimately was just a phase that people went through.That was the way it had always been. Friends and lovers came and went because there was something about her which repelled them, and she didn’t have a clue what it was. It was a mystery that she couldn’t solve on her own, and there wasn’t a single person in the world who could help . . .
There pass the careless peopleThat call their souls their own:Here by the road I loiter,How idle and alone.Ah, past the plunge of plummet,In seas I cannot sound,My heart and soul and senses,World without end, are drowned.His folly has not fellowBeneath the blue of dayThat gives to man or womanHis heart and soul away.There flowers no balm to sain himFrom east of earth to westThat's lost for everlastingThe heart out of his breast.Here by the labouring highwayWith empty hands I stroll:Sea-deep, till doomsday morning,Lie lost my heart and soul.
Ive learnt the most about myself through the people and places i no longer visit, such an ironic exprience.The greatest lessons are from those we give the keys of our hearts to & trust all too easily; realising later on, they are just apart of this grande' story and not everyone gets to make it to the end chapter & happy ever after.
But kind of like when you move something on a wall after it’s been there for a long time, and its place is bright but everything around it is faded—that’s how I feel about her. She wasn’t there very long, but when she left, everything around her memory sort of dimmed.
It could be yesterdaywhen I was less in loveI thinkFor I didn’t see you in the mirrorbehind mewhile getting dressed.The way your hands couldn’t stay awayand our bodies always found their ways back to each otheras if they were meant to be togetherClose.But then it was today and I saw you againin the mirrorbehind me while getting dressedSo I go to sleep tonightalonewithout actually falling asleep because I’m scared of the moment I will wake upand realise it was just a dreamYou’re actually gone.Now all I can do is get through to another tomorrowhoping that I will be less in loveagainLike yesterdayBut not today.I was never really well with things at all.
Ageing is not easy, Sennhora Castro. It's a terrible, incurable pathology. And great love is another pathology. It starts well. It's a most desirable disease. One wouldn't want to do without it. It's like yeast that corrupts the juice of grapes. One loves, one loves, one persists in loving-the incubation period can be very long- and then, with death, comes the heart break. Love must always meet its unwanted end.
we know God is dead, they’ toldus, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybeit was the upper case. you were one of thebest female poets and I told the publishers, editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved youlike a man loves a woman he never touches, onlywrites to, keeps little photographs of. I would haveloved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling acigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, alllovers betray. it didn’ help. you saidyou had a crying bench and it was by a bridge andthe bridge was over a river and you sat on the cryingbench every night and wept for the lovers who hadhurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but neverheard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met youI would probably have been unfair to you or youto me. it was best like this.
Ian pretended that not knowing what to do was the hard part when, somewhere inside, I think he knew that making a choice about something is when the real uncertainty begins. The more terrifying uncertainty is wanting something and not knowing how to get it. It is working toward something even though there is no sure thing. When we make choices, we open ourselves up to hard work and failure and heartbreak, so sometimes it feels easier not to know, not to choose, and not to do.
Help me O God! The pain of separation seems more painful to me than death itself. I don't know how much longer I can carry on. Help me carry on this day Lord. Help me to let go, I pray. Though I may not forget, help me to remember how you have always carried me through. Though the pain may not yet go away, assist me in carrying this cross with hope in my heart.
Love doesn't just go away without a sign or a reason. Things have happened along the way that caused it to grieve and to depart. Like all gifts, love has to be taken care of. It has to cherished and protected by those to whom it is given, and not just by one partner but by both.
When we lose a loved one, whether by a broken relationship or by unexpected death, the most difficult part we experience is the vacuum of loss we feel in our hearts.All of a sudden, a very significant part of our life, maybe the biggest or most important part is taken away. There is no immediate replacement. What we have left is just a BIG VOID, an empty space, a black hole we cannot understand. We feel hollow, like our hearts have suddenly been taken away.
The things that I love about you aren't going to go away when you go on your book tour, and they're not going to go away when you go on your mission. I'll still be here, and I'll still be thinking about all those things. I'll still be working on being a better person, a better friend, a better son. I'll still be wondering what it would be like to be a better boyfriend for you. And you will be on your mission, thinking about how much you wish your weren't gay.
I had wanted you and then I got you, and it’s hard to say who really chased who. Want like ours was two cats and no mice. Want like ours manifested paradise. You ran for me and I ran away… until I ran toward you and you did the same. And it happened so fast. We collided so fast. You became mine so fast.
We were perfectly placed, perfectly disposed to one another. Our pieces fit so well together, not in the way that puzzle pieces are carved to click, but in a clumsier, more accidental way; we were a city skyline – unplanned architectural mastery. Designed by the heavens, and you called me your angel – even when I was undeserving of that accolade. You’d call yourself the devil and I’d feel betrayed. Because for me, we were the same, either two sinners or two saints.
But I loved those books or at least that first one. And I felt somewhere down deep inside him the person who wrote it must be there. That you couldn't write such beautiful things and have such an ugly heart. But that is the truth. He was a beautiful writer and a terrible person.
Understanding did not provide solace or make the pain go away; in many ways, understanding was just more salt in the emotional wound. Ignorance allowed one to fight back with unfettered cruelty. Understanding inspired empathy, which led to guilt, as well as suffering.She looked at Gavin, supine, unconcerned, contented, and thought that perhaps there was something to being a sociopath. If you didn't have a heart, it couldn't be broken.
I will missmy chest explodingyou coming home latenot turning on the lightalways waking me upI will missthe sudden burst of safetywhen you look at meor hold my handor say something like”let’s go home”I will missthe years I loston something or someone.The pieces didn’t fit, shaped wrongthe timing slightly off.I loved you like I always will.
I love you in my very own way.Like a stone loves the mosses around itLike a sea loves the pebbles in itLike a coincidence...Taking you as the way you are,With all the bruises, scars and broken parts all around you and your heart.I love you in my very own wayBy throwing the stone, the mosses, the sea and the pebbles to your headLike i want to kill you.Just because of envying the love That my heart spend on you.
When the heartIs cut or cracked or brokenDo not clutch itLet the wound lie openLet the windFrom the good old sea blow inTo bathe the wound with saltAnd let it sting.Let a stray dog lick itLet a bird lean in the hole and singA simple song like a tiny bellAnd let it ringLet it go.Let it out.Let it all unravel.Let it free and it can beA path on which to travel.
I forced myself out of a love that I knew would only end fatally.I forced myself into the dark, until I could no longer remember how to feel with my eyes. I forced my mind to believethat someone would hold youbetter than I ever could. But the worst part was selling my soulfor a price I know I'll never repay, and forcing myself into lovewith someone who wasn't you
Everybody wants their own little place in the world. And maybe mine is here… Loving you from a distance…
This was something she would keep hidden within herself, maybe in place of the knot of pain and anger she had been carrying under her breastbone...a security blanket, an ace up her sleeve. She might never use it, but she would always feel its presence like a swelling secret stone, and that way when she let go of the rage, she would not feel nearly as empty.
It’s actually quite the contrary. It’s time to freak the fuck out, and that’s not just acceptable, it’s obligatory. The rug has just been pulled out from beneath your feet, and everything you thought you knew with absolute certainty has vanished. Absolute hysteria is just the beginning—you’re about to embark on an entire roller coaster of crazy-ass emotions.
...my father, [was] a mid-level phonecompany manager who treated my mother at best like an incompetent employee. At worst? He never beat her, but his pure, inarticulate fury would fill the house for days, weeks, at a time, making the air humid, hard to breathe, my father stalking around with his lower jaw jutting out, giving him the look of a wounded, vengeful boxer, grinding his teeth so loud you could hear it across the room ... I'm sure he told himself: 'I never hit her'. I'm sure because of this technicality he never saw himself as an abuser. But he turned our family life into an endless road trip with bad directions and a rage-clenched driver, a vacation that never got a chance to be fun.
One day it may feel as if energy and enthusiasm are quenched, feelings dried up and emotions scorched, love and affection tangled in a harsh and uninviting setting. Nothing seems to grow anymore. No seed. No flowers. No foreseeable hope. No conceivable prospects. Any blossom of expectation seems to have become an illusion and life appears to have come to a standstill. If no seed of loving care is sown in the untilled, abandoned land, no bud can come into flower. Singer Amy Winehouse felt like lying fallow in the ground of a wasteland "with tears dry, dying a hundred times, going back to black" and leaving eventually for a place of ultimate sorrow and heartbreak, for a point of no return. ( “Amour en friche” )
I’d allowed myself to feel love –yes, love– for another person in a way I’d once sworn to myself I never would. I’d become completely vulnerable, and now I’d been torn apart with hurt and catapulted onto a path I might never have taken otherwise. I’d risked my life for an outsider. For a stranger. Worse, I had a feeling I was going to do it again.
The way he looks at me makes me ache, but it isn’t fair. He hurt me first. He caused this ache from the start. This inside out, churning pain that feels mental and physical now.I fiddle with my hands, peering up at him again, and all I can think is, God, I wish he’d stop staring at me like that.
I said ”I love you so much it’s killing me”and you kept saying sorryso I stopped explainingfor it never made sense to youwhat always did to meto let what you love kill youand never regret. As Romeo is dying Juliet says”I am willing to die to remain by your side”and love was never a static place of restbut the last second of euphoriawhile throwing yourself out from a 20 store windowto be able to say”I flew before I hit the ground”,and it was glorious.Don’t be sorry.The fall was beautiful, dear.The crash was beautiful.
Just because you have stolen someone's heart, luckily owned and occupied as a home, doesn't give you the audacity to enforce hurtful policies.
Here’s the truth: I am the female version of a heartbreaker. The one that everyone says is too dedicated to ballet, too self-involved to ever care about anyone else besides herself. I’m the rebel. The bad twin. I am Tally—the loner, the party of one. The love and leave ‘em prototype. Heartless. That is me. I have no time for romance, flowers, or relationships. I like one-night stands with plenty of sex and no promises of a future. I like the lies I tell. I’m comfortable in telling them…most of the time. This is me.
If loneliness or sadness or happiness could be expressed through food, loneliness would be basil. It’s not good for your stomach, dims your eyes, and turns your mind murky. If you pound basil and place a stone over it, scorpions swarm toward it. Happiness is saffron, from the crocus that blooms in the spring. Even if you add just a pinch to a dish, it adds an intense taste and a lingering scent. You can find it anywhere but you can’t get it at any time of the year. It’s good for your heart, and if you drop a little bit in your wine, you instantly become drunk from its heady perfume. The best saffron crumbles at the touch and instantaneously emits its fragrance. Sadness is a knobby cucumber, whose aroma you can detect from far away. It’s tough and hard to digest and makes you fall ill with a high fever. It’s porous, excellent at absorption, and sponges up spices, guaranteeing a lengthy period of preservation. Pickles are the best food you can make from cucumbers. You boil vinegar and pour it over the cucumbers, then season with salt and pepper. You enclose them in a sterilized glass jar, seal it, and store it in a dark and dry place.WON’S KITCHEN. I take off the sign hanging by the first-floor entryway. He designed it by hand and silk-screened it onto a metal plate. Early in the morning on the day of the opening party for the cooking school, he had me hang the sign myself. I was meaning to give it a really special name, he said, grinning, flashing his white teeth, but I thought Jeong Ji-won was the most special name in the world. He called my name again: Hey, Ji-won.He walked around the house calling my name over and over, mischievously — as if he were an Eskimo who believed that the soul became imprinted in the name when it was called — while I fried an egg, cautiously sprinkling grated Emmentaler, salt, pepper, taking care not to pop the yolk. I spread the white sun-dried tablecloth on the coffee table and set it with the fried egg, unsalted butter, blueberry jam, and a baguette I’d toasted in the oven. It was our favorite breakfast: simple, warm, sweet. As was his habit, he spread a thick layer of butter and jam on his baguette and dunked it into his coffee, and I plunked into my cup the teaspoon laced with jam, waiting for the sticky sweetness to melt into the hot, dark coffee.I still remember the sugary jam infusing the last drop of coffee and the moist crumbs of the baguette lingering at the roof of my mouth. And also his words, informing me that he wanted to design a new house that would contain the cooking school, his office, and our bedroom. Instead of replying, I picked up a firm red radish, sparkling with droplets of water, dabbed a little butter on it, dipped it in salt, and stuck it into my mouth. A crunch resonated from my mouth. Hoping the crunch sounded like, Yes, someday, I continued to eat it. Was that the reason I equated a fresh red radish with sprouting green tops, as small as a miniature apple, with the taste of love? But if I cut into it crosswise like an apple, I wouldn't find the constellation of seeds.
I will love you as a thief loves a gallery and as a crow loves a murder, as a cloud loves bats and as a range loves braes. I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence, and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong.
Yeah, you lose this attitude, I can help you work that hurt out.”Who was this man? He held onto his tragedy for seventeen fucking years, how could he stand there and tell mehe could help me work through mine?“Really, Joe? Like you helped me work out my grief at losing Tim?” I asked sarcastically.“That’s not what I was offerin’, buddy, but you want it like that I’ll give it to you.”“You’re unbelievable,” I snapped.“I’m yours.”That socked me in the gut too, so hard it winded me and all I could do was stare up at him.Taking advantage, his face dipped close and his hands curled around both sides of my head.“First fuckin’ time you smiled at me in my bed, that’s when it happened,” he murmured.
Cash looked at her, square in the eye, and his jaw twitched. She flinched, then braced herself. For what, she wasn’t sure, but just being near him made her feel like she was made of glass. Like anything he said would break her.“I came to see you.”Anything except that.
I made for the door, and the moment I had my hand on the knob, Elijah pulled me back, again. That’s all he’d been doing. His hazel eyes bored right into me as he said, “I don’t want your money. I don’t care what you had to do to make it; I just care that you’re alive.” Eli did that nervous thing I’d figured was a habit and bit the inside of his bottom lip. Shamefully, my eyes tracked the movement. “I didn’t bring you here because I was drunk, T. Yes, I was a bit out of it, but I was mostly intoxicated by the sight of you. No alcohol could do to me what you did last night.
I don't know you. The only thing I know about you is, you're reading this. I don't know if your happy or not; I don't know whether you're young or not. I sort of hope you're young and sad. If you're old and happy, I can imagine that you'll smile to yourself when you hear me going, he broke my heart. You'll remember someone who broke your heart, and you'll think to yourself, Oh yes, i remember how that feels. But you can't, you smug old git. Oh you'll remember feeling sort of plesantly sad. You might remember listening to music and eating chocolates in your room, or walking along the embankment on your own, wrapped up in a winter coat and feeling lonely and brave. But can you remember how with every mouthful of food it felt like you were biting into your own stomach? Can you remember the taste of red wine as it came back up and into the toilet bowl? Can you remember dreaming every night that you were still together, that he was talking to you gently and touching you, so that every morning when you woke up you had to go through it all over again?
Soon after the completion of his college course, his whole nature was kindled into one intense and passionate effervescence of romantic passion. His hour came,—the hour that comes only once; his star rose in the horizon,—that star that rises so often in vain, to be remembered only as a thing of dreams; and it rose for him in vain. To drop the figure,—he saw and won the love of a high-minded and beautiful woman, in one of the northern states, and they were affianced. He returned south to make arrangements for their marriage, when, most unexpectedly, his letters were returned to him by mail, with a short note from her guardian, stating to him that ere this reached him the lady would be the wife of another. Stung to madness, he vainly hoped, as many another has done, to fling the whole thing from his heart by one desperate effort. Too proud to supplicate or seek explanation, he threw himself at once into a whirl of fashionable society, and in a fortnight from the time of the fatal letter was the accepted lover of the reigning belle of the season; and as soon as arrangements could be made, he became the husband of a fine figure, a pair of bright dark eyes, and a hundred thousand dollars; and, of course, everybody thought him a happy fellow.The married couple were enjoying their honeymoon, and entertaining a brilliant circle of friends in their splendid villa, near Lake Pontchartrain, when, one day, a letter was brought to him in that well-remembered writing. It was handed to him while he was in full tide of gay and successful conversation, in a whole room-full of company. He turned deadly pale when he saw the writing, but still preserved his composure, and finished the playful warfare of badinage which he was at the moment carrying on with a lady opposite; and, a short time after, was missed from the circle. In his room,alone, he opened and read the letter, now worse than idle and useless to be read. It was from her, giving a long account of a persecution to which she had been exposed by her guardian's family, to lead her to unite herself with their son: and she related how, for a long time, his letters had ceased to arrive; how she had written time and again, till she became weary and doubtful; how her health had failed under her anxieties, and how, at last, she had discovered the whole fraud which had been practised on them both. The letter ended with expressions of hope and thankfulness, and professions of undying affection, which were more bitter than death to the unhappy young man. He wrote to her immediately: I have received yours,—but too late. I believed all I heard. I was desperate. I am married, and all is over. Only forget,—it is all that remains for either of us."And thus ended the whole romance and ideal of life for Augustine St. Clare. But the real remained,—the real, like the flat, bare, oozy tide-mud, when the blue sparkling wave, with all its company of gliding boats and white-winged ships, its music of oars and chiming waters, has gone down, and there it lies, flat, slimy, bare,—exceedingly real.Of course, in a novel, people's hearts break, and they die, and that is the end of it; and in a story this is very convenient. But in real life we do not die when all that makes life bright dies to us.
You ask everybody you know: How long does it usually take to get over it?There are many formulas. One year for every year you dated. Two years for every year you dated. It's just a matter of will power: The day you decide it's over, it's over. You never get over it.
If you're gonna leave, I wish you'd just leave. Why do you keep coming back if you're not going to stay? Because even when you're gone, you're never really gone... I won't get over it if you keep coming back. Losing you once was hard enough. And now you're here again and everything's coming back. I'm going to get screwed. And I can't do it again.
It is a dull sensation, your heart breaking, like the sound of a pebble dropping on the sand. Not a shattering, not a tearing apart, there is nothing shrill or grandiose about the sensation. It is merely an internal realization that something treasured you never knew you had is leaving forever.
I see how it is,” I snapped. “You were all in favor of me breaking the tattoo and thinking on my own—but that’s only okay if it’s convenient for you, huh? Just like your ‘loving from afar’ only works if you don’t have an opportunity to get your hands all over me. And your lips. And . . . stuff.”Adrian rarely got mad, and I wouldn’t quite say he was now. But he was definitely exasperated. “Are you seriously in this much self-denial, Sydney? Like do you actually believe yourself when you say you don’t feel anything? Especially after what’s been happening between us?”“Nothing’s happening between us,” I said automatically. “Physical attraction isn’t the same as love. You of all people should know that.”“Ouch,” he said. His expression hadn’t changed, but I saw hurt in his eyes. I’d wounded him. “Is that what bothers you? My past? That maybe I’m an expert in an area you aren’t?”“One I’m sure you’d just love to educate me in. One more girl to add to your list of conquests.”He was speechless for a few moments and then held up one finger. “First, I don’t have a list.” Another finger, “Second, if I did have a list, I could find someone a hell of lot less frustrating to add to it.” For the third finger, he leaned toward me. “And finally, I know that you know you’re no conquest, so don’t act like you seriously think that. You and I have been through too much together. We’re too close, too connected. I wasn’t that crazy on spirit when I said you’re my flame in the dark. We chase away the shadows around each other. Our backgrounds don’t matter. What we have is bigger than that. I love you, and beneath all that logic, calculation, and superstition, I know you love me too. Running away and fleeing all your problems isn’t going to change that. You’re just going to end up scared and confused.”“I already feel that way,” I said quietly.Adrian moved back and leaned into his seat, looking tired. “Well, that’s the most accurate thing you’ve said so far.”I grabbed the basket and jerked open the car door. Without another word, I stormed off, refusing to look back in case he saw the tears that had inexplicably appeared in my eyes. Only, I wasn’t sure exactly which part of our conversation I was most upset about.
I wouldn't have been sent back to help you," Tristan continued. "I wouldn't have been made an angel if it weren't important that you live, Ivy. I want you to be mine" -Ivy could hear the pain in his voice- "but you're not.""I am!" she cried out loud."We're on different sides of a river," he said, "and it's a river that neither of us can cross. You were meant for somebody else.
What do you know of my heart? What do you know of anything but your own suffering. For weeks, Marianne, I've had this pressing on me without being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature. It was forced on me by the very person whose prior claims ruined all my hope. I have endured her exultations again and again whilst knowing myself to be divided from Edward forever. Believe me, Marianne, had I not been bound to silence I could have provided proof enough of a broken heart, even for you.
In that house, you will find my heart. You must break in, Henri, and get it back for me.'Was she mad? We had been talking figuratively. Her heart was in her body like mine. I tried to explain this to her, but she took my hand and put it against her chest.Feel for yourself.
I think falling in love should come with a warning label: CAUTION—side effects may include breaking up, accompanied by heartache, severe mood swings, withdrawal from people and life itself, wasted hours obsessing over bitter reflections, a need to destroy something (preferably something expensive that shatters), uncontrollable tear ducts, stress, a loss of appetite (Cheetos and Dr. Pepper exempt), a bleak and narrow outlook on the future, and an overall hatred of everyone and everything (especially all the happy couples you see strolling hand-in-hand, placed on your path only to exacerbate your isolation and misery). All above reactions will be intensified with the consumption of one or more alcoholic beverages.
One day, I learned that a single look can change everything. And since then I have seen it countless times. I have grappled to understand it and failed. For instance, all it took was a look from another man for my wife to fall out of love with me. It baffles me that a simple alignment of eyes can cause so much devastation.
There is one province in which, sooner or later, virtually everyone gets dealt a leading role--hero, heroine, or villain.... Unlike the slight implications of quotidian dilemmas that confront the average citizen in other areas of life ... the stakes in this realm could not be higher. For chances are that at some point along the line you will hold in your hands another person's heart. There is no greater responsibility on the planet. However you contend with this fragile organ, which pounds or seizes in accordance with your caprice, will take your full measure.
I would never normally approach a woman in this way, but I couldn't help but notice that you have the eyes of a lady I was once desperately in love with. ""What a shame to love only once," she said, showing her white teeth in a wicked smile. "I've heard some men can manage twice or even more."I ignored her gibe. "I am only a fool once. Never will I love again.
Love does not traffic in a marketplace, nor use a huckster's scales. Its joy, like the joy of the intellect, is to feel itself alive. The aim of Love is to love: no more, and no less. You were my enemy: such an enemy as no man ever had. I had given you all my life, and to gratify the lowest and most contemptible of all human passions, hatred and vanity and greed, you had thrown it away. In less than three years you had entirely ruined me in every point of view. For my own sake there was nothing for me to do but to love you.
If you looked round the rooms, you wouldn't think there was anything missing. But it's like one of those Spot the difference cartoons in a puzzle book. The changes are so subtle, yet glaringly obvious once you've seen them. A photo missing here, a cup there. A heart a bit more broken than it was before.
I will not deny that my heart has long occupied itself with the most tender feelings for another. So strong were these impulses that I indulged myself by thinking that if I could not have him whom I admired whom I will admit it now when I would not before I loved then I would never want another. However those are sentiments best saved for one of Lily's romances. The heart is a far more practical thing and in its life is happily capable of more than a single attachment.
And now, as I'm lying alone in my own bed, I keep thinking about writhing against him last night, naked and vulnerable. Even after we'd both risen and fallen, peaked and plummeted, even after Marcus was physically shrinking from inside me, I couldn't stop clutching, crying, trying. Trying to pull him deeper, deeper, deeper within.Trying to make him more a part of me than I am myself.
Guys can smell desperation. It triggers an instinct in them to run far and fast so they aren't around when a woman starts peeling apart her heart. They know she'll ask for help in putting it back together the right way - intact and beating correctly - and they dread the thought of puzzling over layers that they can't understand, let alone rebuild. They'd rather just not get blood on their hands.But sharks are different. They smell the blood of desperation and circle in. They whisper into a girl's ear, "I'll make it better. I'll make you forget all about your pain."Sharks do this by eating your heart, but they never mention this beforehand. That is the thing about sharks.
If you'd only let me come by myself, none of this would have happened. Having you around makes everything worse.'She buried her head under her pillow. 'Stop it! you're so cold! You're heartless, you little robot!' The pillow muffled her words, but they still
The fear is like metal on my tongue—I’ve known him but a fragment of time, and yet I’m certain if I accept his suit, it will destroy a part of me when he leaves.”Keir reached forward to tuck her hair behind her ear. “We’re all a little broken.” Quiet. Potent. “No one goes through life with a whole heart.
Do not write. I am sad, and want my light put out.Summers in your absence are as dark as a room.I have closed my arms again. They must do without.To knock at my heart is like knocking at a tomb. Do not write!Do not write. Let us learn to die, as best we may.Did I love you? Ask God. Ask yourself. Do you know?To hear that you love me, when you are far away,Is like hearing from heaven and never to go. Do not write!Do not write. I fear you. I fear to remember,For memory holds the voice I have often heard.To the one who cannot drink, do not show water,The beloved one's picture in the handwritten word. Do not write!Do not write those gentle words that I dare not see,It seems that your voice is spreading them on my heart,Across your smile, on fire, they appear to me,It seems that a kiss is printing them on my heart. Do not write!
What they had wasn't ordinary, or subject to the ordinary rules of relationships and breakups. They belonged to each other totally, and always would, and that was that. But maybe everyone felt that way? Until the moment they realized they were just like everyone else, and everything they'd thought was real shattered apart.
News flash: The whole thing is a huge mess and a giant nightmare and it’s all about to explode in your face and you have no idea whatyou’ve gotten yourself into. Love is no game. People cut their ears off over this stuff. People jump off the Eiffel Tower and sell all theirpossessions and move to Alaska to live with the grizzly bears, and then they get eaten and nobody hears them when they scream for help.That’s right. Falling in love is pretty much the same thing as being eaten alive by a grizzly bear.Believe me, I should know.
There were times when I would forget her, though they were rare, and it would be for a time as though she had never existed; and then some passing girl's inadvertent gesture, or an accidental profile, or a hat like hers, would restore her, and restore the suffering too, and I would long again, somehow, to encounter or to see her.
One thing, though," Qhuinn murmured."What?"The voice that came out his throat was unlike anything he'd ever heard from himself before. "If any guy breaks your heart or treats you like shit, I will bust him apart with my bare hands and leave his broken, bloody body for the sun."Blay's laughter rumbled around the tiled walls. "Of course you will--""I'm dead fucking serious."Blay's blue eyes shot over his shoulder."If there are any who dare to hurt you," Qhuinn growled in the Old Language, "I shall see them staked afore me and shall leave their bodies in ruin.
An ache filled my chest, so sharp that I gasped out loud. Was this what a broken heart felt like? Was it possible to die from the pain? I’d always thought the girls at school so dramatic; when they broke up with their boyfriends, they cried and carried on for weeks. I didn’t think they needed to throw such a fuss. But I’d never been in love before.
It was like letting go and falling back into water and seeing yourself grinning up through the water, your face like a mask, and seeing the bubbles coming up as if you were trying to speak from under the water. And how do you know what it's like to try to speak from under water when you're drowned?
It's clear he still feels something, but what? Is the whole reason he made such a big deal about wanting to talk to me so he could have a chance to apologize? Well, I don't want his apology. You don't get to break someone's heart and think everything is fine just because you say sorry. That's just not fair.
3:29:50 pmwhat is it that you love about himis it the way he lets you downincapable of lifting you upis it the way your heart breakswhen he says somethingthat shatters your self-esteemis it the fact he never shows upwhen you need himtell me again what is there to loveabout a man who doesn't love you
listen girl,’ Medea says, ‘you arenot the first person in the world tosuffer from a broken heart.but i will treat you like you are.listen girl. he is not calling out your name.your name to him is nothing.it might have been before.once, your name might have beenthe only word he knew when hewas blind sad or bursting with sun.those days are over.your name can only exist in your own mouth now.say it over and over. say it until it doesn’t soundlike a name, but just a sound. the promises he made you are just sounds now too. remember that.your hands are what will hold you together now.and you want to be mad? be mad.here is a plate. throw it through his window,listen to the crack. the shatter. laugh into the night.call yourself the sun. see, you will rise.and are you less of a woman for this? nowhat is woman?woman is this–enduring.listen girl, you will get over this– you will.but what fool said you had to do it silently?here is a tip – scream
The return journey was nothing like the arrival. Bea couldn’t wait to get out of the car. She remembered feeling like this before, with Brandon, on several occasions. It was an excruciating need to escape the confinement of being in too close a proximity to passive-aggressive behaviour. She hated conflict, after a row, it would take her hours, perhaps days to become fully relaxed and herself again. She became anxious, not entirely brought on by his coldness, but by old memories, and the way her body would instinctively react to them. It wasn’t a feeling that she wanted to experience with someone new, of whom she’d told his sister only a short time ago that she was falling in love with.
I am but a stranger ... as we all are. Lonely inside our separate skins, we cannot know each others pain and must bear our own in solitude. For my part, I have found that walking soothes it; and that, given luck, sometimes we find one to walk besides us ... at least for a little way.
With every strike of lightning Comes a memory that lasts Not a word is left unspoken As the thunder starts to crash Maybe I should give upStanding out in the rain Need to know if it's over Cause I would leave you alone I'm flooded with all this pain Knowing that I'll never hold her Like I did before the storm
If I were standing right beside her, I probably would have heard her heart breaking. It would have sounded like the cracking of a wooden bat connecting with a baseball. No, that was too clean of a break. It would have sounded like rain from a powerful thunderstorm pounding on a tin roof. Millions of drops relentlessly pounding away on the surface until it shattered into billions of tiny pieces. Pieces Emily couldn’t put back together by herself.
Was I heartbroken or furious? I didn’t know. I did know: that’s it. Our relationship could not continue like this, out of balance, unequal.And as surely as I knew this, I knew something else: But of course it can. We can continue to live exactly as we do right now, in a heavy-lidded state of love and unspeakable compromise. Isn’t that what people do? Every day? Don’t they ache but rename it tired?It made me wonder: Was it even fair to expect the person you’re with to be just as happy as you? Furthermore, how could you ever even know for sure? You couldn’t, was the truth of it. You could not know this.
I think it’s pretty common to hold onto people, to bribe them with things, say, a body, in the hopes of keeping them from leaving you. I don’t think it’s uncommon to invert such behaviors, to become something unlovable, in an effort to speed up the process of the inevitable. Fighting is an instinct. So is running. Everybody knows how to destroy a good thing. It’s easy.
What if I were to tell you the game’s been rigged, that I was destined to win from the very beginning? To be clear: Winning is subjective. For the record: I win by losing, by avoiding the confusion of possibility, the sheer terror of potential. To make a long story short: I win when I lose and I lose by running, by pushing you away.
I think sometimes we gravitate toward broken people, not ’cause we want to fix them, but ’cause we want to fix ourselves. The line between selflessness and selfishness is thin and intangible. It’s imaginary. We can’t see it. People project their problems onto other people’s problems. It happens all the time. We see ourselves in each other. We can’t help it. It’s human nature.
The dogs left with us and we walked. I sobbed the whole way home, still heartbroken. My mom had no time for my whining.“Why are you crying?!”“Because Fufi loves another boy.”“So? Why would that hurt you? It didn’t cost you anything. Fufi’s here. She still loves you. She’s still your dog. So get over it.”Fufi was my first heartbreak. No one has ever betrayed me more than Fufi. It was a valuable lesson to me. The hard thing was understanding that Fufi wasn’t cheating on me with another boy. She was merely living her life to the fullest. Until I knew that she was going out on her own during the day, her other relationship hadn’t affected me at all. Fufi had no malicious intent.I believed that Fufi was my dog, but of course that wasn’t true. Fufi was a dog. I was a boy. We got along well. She happened to live in my house. That experience shaped what I’ve felt about relationships for the rest of my life: You do not own the thing that you love. I was lucky to learn that lesson at such a young age. I have so many friends who still, as adults, wrestle with feelings of betrayal. They’ll come to me angry and crying and talking about how they’ve been cheated on and lied to, and I feel for them. I understand what they’re going through. I sit with them and buy them a drink and I say, “Friend, let me tell you the story of Fufi.
Do you think dogs enjoy fucking? Or is it something so primal, so intrinsically necessary that it just happens, just occurs? Do you think animals can fall in love? I let you fuck me from behind almost every single night, always wanting to be kissed, but still, I refuse to roll over.
Dear . . .You’re the poem I couldn’t finish The journey I should have never started I saw tragedy in our ending My pen bled its heart out trying to change it But you were the fight I didn’t want to lose The addiction I didn’t want to quitYet there was only one of us holding on I wasn’t attached to the man you areBut the one you could be I tried to build where there was no foundationCreate a fairy tale on blank pages But some stories need not be told, let alone written You’ll read my words and won’t be moved Your arrogance will not soften You won’t be changed Your heart, if you should have one, will not bend or break The worst part of it all Is this poem is about you and you’ll never even know it
Flora hadn't signed my yearbook. When I got it back from the cheerleaders, I skimmed over the last few pages and saw that every one of them signed except for her. I was disappointed but I wasn't surprised.We were too much of everything to be summed up in a few sentences. -Sean Foster
Hearts don’t break.It’s just another thing the poets say.Hearts are not madeOf glassOr boneOr any material that couldSplinterOr FragmentOr Shatter.They don’tCrack Into Pieces.They don’tFall Apart.Hearts don’t break.They just stop working.An old watch from another time and no parts to fix it.
I feel almost, then, that I can hear within me the sound of my own heart breaking, the way you could hear outside in the open air-when the conditions were exactly right-the corn growing in the fields of my youth...You cannot hear my heart breaking, and I know that part is true, but to me, they are inseparable, the sound of growing corn and the sound of my heart breaking.
Then you'd sob and sob and sob so hard you couldn't stand up until finally you'd go quiet and your head would weigh seven hundred pounds and you'd lift it from your hands and rise to walk into the bathroom to look at yourself solemnly in the mirror and you'd know for sure that you were dead. Living but dead. And all because this person didn't love you anymore, or even if he/she loved you he/she didn't want you and what kind of life was that? it was no life. There would be no life anymore. There would be only one unbearable minute after another and during each of those minutes this person you wanted would not want you and so you would begin to cry again and you'd watch yourself cry pathetically in the mirror until you couldn't cry anymore, so you'd stop.
JAMIE'S SONG 'Million Years/Billion Deaths':Every beat of my heart says,‘Who’d wanna be a heart?’Every cell in my body,Wants to split apart.Though I know I have to be strong.And I’m sure I won’t have to wait long.But when each day lasts forever,And when every night lasts much longer,Tell me how am I supposed to go on?But if each moment with you,Lasts as long as these lonely nights do,Then I’d wait a million years for you.Yes, I’ll wait a million years for you.And I’ll die a billion deaths to get to you.To get to you…Every breath I take whispers,‘Who’d wanna be in love?’Every vein in my body,Has bled dry, my love.Though I know I have to be strong.And I’m sure I won’t have to wait long.But when each day lasts forever,And when every night lasts much longer,Tell me how am I supposed to go on?But if each moment with you,Lasts as long as these lonely nights do,Then I’d wait a million years for you.Yes, I’ll wait a million years for you.And I’ll die a billion deaths to get to you.To get to you…
JAMIE'S SONG 'WHERE YOU ARE':I left my heart at your door,Don’t tread on it on your way out.It’s convulsing on the floor,Can’t you hear it scream and shout?I dropped my life by your feet,Don’t kick it as you walk down the street.I put my dreams in your hand,Don’t let them slip through your fingers like grains of sand.And my eyes will watch you from afar,Guide you like a shooting star.And you’ll see that I’ll always be where you are.Where you are.Yes, you know that I’ll always be where you are.Yes my eyes will watch you from afar,Guide you like a shooting star.And you’ll see that I’ll always be where you are.Where you are.
JAMIE'S SONG 'August and November':They say it was a beautiful summer.I say I felt so cold the whole short while.I heard that it rained for days,Between August and November.Well I didn’t see it rain on the enslaved river.I am the river no more (x2)And the rain is just acid water from their cloudy black smoke.And now I’m at a standstill on the streets, That are lit up like a funfair from some forgotten dream.Yet faces, headlights, and the whole world passes by me. Without taking a step, I’m down in the hole too.And if it rains this comingDark and lonely December,I will never watch it fall on the entrapped river.I am the river no more (x2)And the rain is acid water from their cloudy black smoke.
I looked at her, unsure how to answer. Even after everything Mikael had done, every day I had to let go again. He was a habit in my thoughts, not any more welcome than a rash, but I'd find myself thinking of him before I even realized what I was doing. Banishing him from my thoughts was like learning to breathe in a new way. It was a conscious effort.
JAMIE'S SONG 'LOVE TRANSFUSION':I’m not sleeping nights,I’m not doing good.I’m not eating right,have no use for food.All I do is bleed dry for you.But somehow I survive,And wake up with more love for you.It’s not blood running through my veins, it’s you.I’ve had a strange blood transfusion,To add to my confusion.It’s not compatible;I’m going hysterical.It’s some kind of love transfusion.Love transfusion.Love transfusion.I’ve had a strange blood transfusion.Blood transfusion.Blood transfusion. It’s not blood running through my veins, it’s you.
JAMIE'S SONG 'Bright Blue Dream':I watch the world go round and round.And see the sun go up and down.I think I’ve heard most every soundExcept your voice.I feel the river by my feet.And let the tears dry indiscrete.Seems the horizon’s incompleteWithout your face.The world is a colder place,Shadows everywhere you used to be.Darker than the darkest nights I’ve seen.And I try go back to thatBright blue dream.When there was nothing, there was nothing, but you and me.Clear blue sky.Yes there was something, there was something, I could not see.
I find some small, twisted comfort in thinking that perhaps we used each other. Him, for a glimpse into what it would be like to live a life entirely different from the one he'd been raised to desire, and me for the steady diet of angst and emotional damage that seemed to make me better, sharper, like a sword against a whetstone.I was his intellectual escape from a long parade of pretty, empty girls... and he was my drug of choice -- unhealthy, probably lethal, but ultimately so addictive it was hard to turn away.The problem, of course, with this theory of mutual exploitation, is that it is the deepest of lies. There was nothing equal or mutual about the way we used each other. I barely scratched his surface while he sliced me limb from limb.There's no comfort in that. None at all.
You think you can change a guy, that he’ll be different with you, that you’ll finally be the one to tame him… and before you know it, you’re alone in your underwear at nine o’clock on a Saturday night, crying to Adele songs, eating ice cream straight from the gallon, and wondering what the hell is the matter with you that you fell for such a goddamned man-child, after he explicitly warned you not to.
I know you want her back, kid. And I know that people saying things like 'there are plenty more fish in the sea' is only going to make you hurt more. And I could tell you all about the science of what your brain is going through right now. How it's processing a pain as intense as hitting a nerve in your tooth, but it can't find a source for that pain, so you kind of feel it everywhere. I could tell you that when you fall for someone, the bits of your brain that light up are the same as when you're hungry or thirsty. And I could tell you that when the person you love leaves you, you starve for them, you crave them, Heartbreak is a science, like love. So trust me when I say this: you're wounded right now, but you'll heal.
This is another piece about me cause you don't seem to get what I mean after all those verses split. And after this, I promise you still won't know me. Because you said I was crying for attention. Because you actually meant acceptance. Because I slipped out of your remembrance. Tonight is yours to forget. Erase. Embrace. Embrace, erase.If you remove all my words, I am wasted tears. Swim in me and all around me. Get drunk in my tears. Get drown.Everyone loves you when you are beautiful. Amusing how people get drowned in such shallow water. You are no mermaid, dear. Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, they say. Hold me, we are all blind. And if you remove all my clothes, I am a graveyard. You don't sin on a deathbed. You don't sin on my skin. Bury your intentions. The end is near. Let me go, return me to the sun. So by night, we may all forget.
It's what everyone wants when they're breaking someone's heart: to be rid of the person and yet absolved of guilt, of the unhappiness they've caused. They want their rationalizations heard and gulped up by the wronged, and they want their victims to go away, peacefully. To never be haunted again.
He's an egotistical dickhead who's going to chew you up and spit you out; and you have a really awful history of falling for assholes that you ought to run screaming from; and I don't feel like sitting around listening to you try to convince yourself you don't still feel something for Campbell Alexander when, in fact, you've spent the past fifteen years trying to fill in the hole he made inside you.
There’s something so beautiful about people who are heartbroken; they think about how they’re feeling much more. I think when you’re happy and when you’re in love, you don’t need to think about it, it’s just there. Love is one of those things that is so simple, you don’t need to think about it when it’s good, you only need to think about it when it’s bad, so when music is all that you have and you’re lonely or you’re missing someone and you write a song that says exactly how you feel, there is sort of a gratification you get from that, it almost helps you move on.
There are things that, when they break, they keep on functioning, just in some other, lesser way. Like an elevator: it breaks, and it's a room. An escalator: it breaks, and it's stairsThe heart is the same.It breaks, and you might not even notice, because you still feel things, you still have emotions.
And we love you but I have to ask you to help me, to help us, please.”“How?” I asked, “By pretending nothing ever happened? Act as if she and I were strangers? Stand the way your sister acts towards me after all of what we had? Forget my story by her side? Are you asking me for that, Gabriel, for God’s sake?”“It sounds pretty bad when you put it like that…” Gabriel said, “but yes, pretty much.
March 22, 2014I have found the truth in the lies I told myself. I thought I could run from this woman, but she continues to chase me. In my mind, my heart, she’s always there. An entire bottle of whiskey can’t drown out her voice. I wake up each morning hoping it will finally be the day that I get over her. But then night falls and memories of her begin to torture me until sleep is no longer an option. Each night I fall into this abyss of nothingness, feeling only the emptiness of not having her beside me.I have found the truth in the lies I told myself. I slept with another woman, all the while wishing it was her and I still went through with it.What a fool I was. I still long to feel the satisfaction I was supposed to have felt that night. I still long to feel the freedom I’d hoped to gain from seeking refuge in the arms of another woman. But I’ll never be free of her. It will take an eternity to break out of these shackles.For one month, ONE month I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants and yet for two years I haven’t even so much as looked at another woman. I’ve remained completely faithful to a memory. Devoted to her smile.Committed to her ever-changing green eyes. I have read through the past entries in this journal and I noticed that I have never used her name. As if inking it would somehow solidify the feelings I think I’ve always felt.I have found the truth in the lies I told myself. I do love her.Love is this painful.
When you have a persistent sense of heartbreak and gutwrench, the physical sensations become intolerable and we will do anything to make those feelings disappear. And that is really the origin of what happens in human pathology. People take drugs to make it disappear, and they cut themselves to make it disappear, and they starve themselves to make it disappear, and they have sex with anyone who comes along to make it disappear and once you have these horrible sensations in your body, you’ll do anything to make it go away.
This level reach of blue is not my sea; Here are sweet waters, pretty in the sun,Whose quiet ripples meet obediently A marked and measured line, one after one. This is no sea of mine. that humbly laves Untroubled sands, spread glittering and warm. I have a need of wilder, crueler waves; They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm. So let a love beat over me again, Loosing its million desperate breakers wide; Sudden and terrible to rise and wane; Roaring the heavens apart; a reckless tide That casts upon the heart, as it recedes, Splinters and spars and dripping, salty weeds.
He stood frozen, staring at me as if he didn’t know how to do anything else. I couldn’t focus; it was like all the world’s blue had originated from his eyes. It was all there, the color of midnight, the sky, the ocean, and blue raspberry lollipops. Why had I spent so much time pretending they weren’t remarkable?
Close your eyes, real tight, and then count to three hundred. That’s all you have to do. You just count to three hundred, and when you open your eyes, five minutes will have passed. And even if it hurts or things are shitty or you don’t know what to do, you just made it through five whole minutes. And when it feels like you can’t go on, you just close your eyes and do it again. That’s all you need. Just five minutes at a time.
I'm a lunatic wandering around for scraps, I'm like every single miserable moron I've scorned, and pretended I didn't recognize. I'm all of them, every last ugly thing in a bad last-minute costume. I'm not different, not at all, not different from any other speck of a thing.
She remembered the days when they'd been each other's everything, when just being together was enough. When she believed their love could conquer the world. How long had it been since Michael had said her name in that special way, when they'd talked all night about their dreams and their future?
Thanksgiving is a time for gratitude. It can also be a time when feeling grateful can be an acrobatic feat that you're just not up for. There's no rules that need to be followed here. Authentic living is your only option, so it's ok to turn off the tv when another ad screams for you to be a certain way just because the calendar says so. Power of suggestion can be great medicine - but don't judge yourself or a loved one who is having trouble learning the words to this song. It's a tough season from some people. Huddle and cuddle with those you trust and love. That's real medicine and it's a good place to be during the holidays. xoxo
Had the new people learned what Original Man was taught at a council of animals—never damage Creation, and never interfere with the sacred purpose of another being—the eagle would look down on a different world. The salmon would be crowding up the rivers, and passenger pigeons would darken the sky. Wolves, cranes, Nehalem, cougars, Lenape, old-growth forests would still be here, each fulfilling their sacred purpose. I would be speaking Potawatomi. We would see what Nanabozho saw. It does not bear too much imagining, for in that direction lies heartbreak.
So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the time for him to leave was approaching:"Oh!", said the fox. "I am going to cry.""It's your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any harm; but you wanted me to tame you...""I know," said the fox."And now you're going to cry!" said the little prince."I know," said the fox."So you have gained nothing from it at all!""Yes, I have gained something," said the fox, "because of the colour of the corn.
If you could know going in that twenty-five years of love would break you in the end, would you risk it? Because isn’t it inevitable? When you make such a large withdrawal of happiness, somewhere you’ll have to make an equally large deposit. It all goes back to the universal law of equilibrium.
Instead I just stand there, tears running down my cheeks in nameless emotion that tastes of joy and of grief. Joy for the being of the shimmering world and grief for what we have lost. The grasses remember the nights they were consumed by fire, lighting the way back with a conflagration of love between species. Who today even knows what that means? I drop to my knees in the grass and I can hear the sadness, as if the land itself was crying for its people: Come home. Come home.There are often other walkers here. I suppose that’s what it means when they put down the camera and stand on the headland, straining to hear above the wind with that wistful look, the gaze out to sea. They look like they’re trying to remember what it would be like to love the world.
She sighed. "I don't know, Father, how do you get over someone who's held your heart in their hands for so long? And what do you do when they constantly turn your love away, leaving you battered and bruised?" A sob broke free from her throat to pierce the darkness.His arm stiffened, paralyzed over her shoulder.Marcy's voice rose, quiet and strong, to counter her daughter's pain. "You run to the arms of the Almighty, Lizzie. 'Because thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.' That's the only place our hearts are safe, the only place they can heal.
The audacity is in the living, not in the choosing. You are fearless enough to keep breathing; in the face of loss and pain and humility and gratitude and gifts and brilliance and confusion. This is the amazing thing. Right or wrong can never be anything but small things in the face of your gigantic, intrepid spirit
All of it was there but nothing had substance. It was as if they were all shadows, as if her leaving had taken the life out of the living things and left them shadows. he himself was a shadow.he felt no weight in his step, ,no sound to his voice, no solidity to his gestures. he forgot time. he felt the ache of a pain whose depth he could not fathom no whose end anticipate
Don’t do this,” he begged hoarsely against her temple, crumbling inside. Honor wasn’t the type to make empty threats or do something like this on a whim. No, she meant it and was prepared to go through with it. He had one last shot to change her mind, right now, before he lost her forever. So no, even he wasn’t above begging if that’s what it took to make her stay and work this out. “You said you still love me,” he whispered brokenly. He was holding onto that for all it was worth. It had to be enough. He squeezed her tighter. “I know you’re scared and I know you’re hurting but… Don’t do this. Don’t walk away. Please.” Don’t leave me. She’d never know how much it cost him to beg her this way, but he was so damn scared right now he didn’t care how pathetic it made him look. He’d do or say f-ing whatever it took to get her to listen to reason, make her change her mind. Anything except agreeing to live a lie and hide his true feelings for her from the rest of the world, no matter what the reason. A sob tore out of her. Honor stopped shoving at him. She wound her arms around his back and squeezed so hard he felt the muscles in her arms tremble. Liam closed his eyes and pressed his face against her hair, that painful bubble of hope surfacing again. He could feel her torment, her pain. If he could just calm her down long enough to get her to listen, really listen and then think this through… “Sweet pea, just listen to me,” he began softly. “No, I can’t.” Honor tore away from him and grabbed the doorknob. Before he could recover enough to reach out and stop her, she’d slammed the door shut behind her. Gone.
Then he made the mistake of looking into her eyes and froze. Her expression was so open, so full of tenderness and longing as well as heat that he almost balked. This was supposed to be about closure, about having the goodbye they’d never gotten last time. How was he supposed to leave after if she gave herself to him this completely? Her hand came up to cradle the side of his face, her thumb stroking back and forth across his jaw, her touch gentle and loving. “Need you,” she murmured,It was good. Even better than he remembered. Liam buried his face in the side of her neck and sucked in a breath, struggling to hang on. Being cradled in Honor’s arms, buried to the hilt inside her while she opened her body and heart to him was the most incredible thing in the world. How the f*&^ was he going to walk away later? Without warning his eyes began to sting. As though she sensed how close he was to coming unglued, Honor murmured to him and pressed kisses to the side of his face, her hand urging his head to turn toward her. Liam shook his head, unable to bear that final level of intimacy when he knew this was their last time. Keeping his face in her neck he fought back the swell of emotion and began to move, a slow, shallow rocking motion that was more profound than words could ever be. He loved her. Would always love her, but it wasn’t enough because some things couldn’t be undone and he just couldn’t let her in the way he had before. All they had left was this bittersweet farewell, and he was going to make it memorable. .... A lump settled in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, torn between the excruciating pleasure swelling inside him and the need to see her face as he took her this last time. In the end, his heart won out. Powerless to stop himself, he lifted his head and looked down at her. Anguish sliced through his chest when he saw the tears glistening in her beautiful eyes. Don’t. Don’t cry. Shit, he didn’t want either of them to hurt anymore. He was sick of hurting. That’s why he was ending it all tonight. With a low sound of regret he covered her mouth with his, his tongue sliding against hers as he took her. Honor kissed him back deep and slow...Cupping her cheek with his free hand he gave her everything he had left to give, allowing his emotional shields to drop for these final moments.She ran her fingertips up and down his back in a soothing motion, her body limp and pliant beneath his, legs still wrapped around him. And all of a sudden he felt like crying. He felt too much, was in too deep again.He didn’t know what to say to make this any easier. After what they’d just shared he was more conflicted than ever about what to do. “I’ll miss you,” she murmured, and he caught the slight catch in her voice. Ah, fu&%. He gritted his teeth. It would be so much easier if they could just hate each other. For a moment he considered saying something to make her do exactly that, but couldn’t. Even he wasn’t enough of an a**hole to end things that way. And that look on her face… Against his better judgment, Liam sat back down on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his arms. Honor went willingly into his embrace, pressing her face to his chest as she hugged him tight in return. “I’ll miss you too.” Dammit, he should never have come here tonight. “I wish it could be different, but I just… I can’t do this anymore.” I’ll always love you but I can’t afford to let you back in again. “I’m sorry.
The passage is free for those who think you are not good enough for them: at your level, I think the best option is to sit back, relax and listen to a cool music, while watching them pack out of your life, and that's when you feel the intense release from the pit of hell.
In the first book of the Bible it is written that: "The Lord regretted that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him to his heart.” In another translation it is written like this: "God was sorry that he had made the human race in the first place; it broke his heart.” "It grieved him to his heart.""It broke his heart."We grieved him to his heart. We broke his heart. God’s heart can be…broken? You cannot love without being vulnerable - because love involves the risk of the person you’re loving not loving you back, of rejecting you - and that hurts. That grieves you to your heart.God had created man, and He loved them - but they didn’t love Him back, and it broke His heart.
(Divorce)We’ll remarry someday when we’ve grown, Like royalty who’ve earned the throne. An aisle made of gold, To have and to hold.My dress made of rags, A suit that’s so torn.All eyes are on me,But mine only on you. You give your hand,A king to his queen,But know this darling,Mulligans aren’t for the weak. By changing the rules,We’re changing the war,The wounds that we’ve known,Battle stains on the floor.But from this day on,The same as before, You are the apple,My eyes still adore.Worth more than one shot,Though we’ll face the worst a lot,Better days will come,If we stay and don’t run.And if a wave takes us out,I know we’ll figure it out. And if the current takes us in, I know we’ll do it all again.
Sure, occasionally a certain sappy song or romantic movie would come on, and you’d wonder what he or she was up to, but there was no way to know. Of course, you could always pick up the phone (and more recently, text or e-mail), but that would require that person’s knowing you were thinking of him or her. Where’s the fun in that? You never want them to know you’re thinking of them, so you refrain. Before long the memories start to fade. One day, you realize you can’t quite remember how she smelled or the exact color of his eyes. Eventually, without ever knowing it, you just forget that person altogether. You replace old memories with new ones, and life goes on. It was the clean break you needed to move forward.
It’s not easy,” she says, in that voice that mothers have, that mix of unwanted knowledge and small consolation. “Whatever you had—I don’t know exactly what it was, and that’s fine. But it must not be easy for you. You miss him, and that’s okay. But you have to figure that if it’s too hard to hang on, then maybe you should let go.
I tried to shut myself down completely, put up my best screensaver personality to coast through the day. I didn't want to see her. I was desperate to see her. I wanted to hold it together. I wanted to melt down right at her feet and scream, Look what you've done to me.
Frantic and serene, vigilant and calm, wrung-out and fortified, explosive and sedate—love commands a vast army of moods. Hoping for victory, limping from the latest skirmish, lovers enter the arena once again. Sitting still, we are as daring as gladiators.
It doesn’t work,” she continues, unclasping her hands, smoothing her skirt. “What you’re feeling right now doesn’t work. You can’t wander around and think the wandering will call them back. Believe me. I know you don’t want to hear the long view, but let me tell you. You are so young. I know it’s none of my business. But still.
I’m so sorry,” I continue. And it’s like the last word is a hurdle and I can’t leap it, because something in the word snags my voice and suddenly I am giving everything up. I am letting my shoulders fall and I am feeling myself become the absence, feeling myself become that gasp and sob.
Love was the greatest thing, wasn't it? Love was what we had that no one else had or could ever have? And you were a genius and I was your whole life. I was your partner and your little black flower. Slop. Love is just another dirty lie. Love is ergoapiol pills to make me come around because you were afraid to have a baby. Love is quinine and quinine and quinine until I'm deaf with it. Love is that aborting horror you took me to. Love is my insides all messed up. It's half catheters and half whirling douches. I know about love. Love always hangs up behind the bathroom door. It smells like lysol. To hell with love. Love is you making me happy and then going off to sleep with your mouth open while I lie awake all night afraid to say my prayers even because I know I have no right to say anymore. Love is all the dirty little tricks you taught me that you probably got out of some book. All right. I'm through with you and I'm through with love. Your kind of picknose love. You writer.
The moral of the story couldn’t be clearer: you already know if your partner is fucking around behind your back, you just need to decide if you’re done being a doormat. You need to wake up one morning and decide that those rose-colored glasses are so last fucking season.
Her next words took me by surprise. I lay as still as I could, barely breathing, afraid that if I moved she would stop speaking her heart.“My mom wanted six children. She only got me, and that sucks for her because I was a total weirdo.”“You were not,” I said.She twisted her head up to look at me.“I used to line my lips in black eyeliner and sit cross-legged on the kitchen table … meditating.”“Not that bad,” I said. “Crying out for attention.”“Okay, when I was twelve I started writing letters to my birth mother because I wanted to be adopted.”I shook my head. “Your childhood sucked, you wanted a new reality.”She snorted air through her nose. “I thought a mermaid lived in my shower drain, and I used to call her Sarah and talk to her.”“Active imagination,” I countered. She was becoming more insistent, her little body wriggling in my grip.“I used to make paper out of dryer lint.”“Nerdy.”“I wanted to be one with nature, so I started boiling grass and drinking it with a little bit of dirt for sugar.”I paused. “Okay, that’s weird.”“Thank you!” she said. Then, she got serious again. “My mom just loved me through all of it.
A sharp pain in her chest became more intoxicating with each breath she took. There it was. The reason she had forced herself to keep her distance from love. Why she had given up on trusting someone not to hurt her. Because a broken heart, no matter how figurative, was an unbearable pain to endure. And sometimes, no matter how much you want to be with someone, there’s never a guarantee that they want you back.
All her tormentings of me turned suddenly into sweetnesses, and who could torment like this exquisite fury, wondering in sudden flame why she could give herself to anyone, while I wondered only why she could give herself to me. It may be that I wondered over-much. Perhaps that was why I lost her.
The guilt fell upon him like a hammer to a nail. He dropped onto his bed, grabbing the picture frame that sat next to it. I’m sorry were the words that repeatedly came out of his mouth. All he could think was, how could he do that to her? To the woman he vowed to spend the rest of his life with. His stomach hurt just from thinking about it.
This is the truth of the world: you can spend years devoting your time and love to someone. You can take care of them willingly and happily. You can think you know them as well as they know themselves. You can trust them entirely. But no one, absolutely no one, will ever change unless they want to, and some are incapable of change- no matter who they are, or what they meant to you. Broken people will always find a way to justify their selfish ways. There is no such thing as a promise.
Logan looked at her and wondered how someone so beautiful could be so oblivious to their own beauty, how someone so smart could be so foolish to the extent of their own intellect and how someone so loving and compassionate could ever think she wasn’t worthy of love? It was like watching a blind man trapped and wandering aimlessly and helplessly in a scorching hot desert unable to see the small puddle of water that lay just a foot away. The only difference was that she had eyes. Two beautiful ones, yet she could not see. Is that what madness was? Was it to be able to view and appreciate every form of beauty but to be blind to the value and exquisiteness of one’s own? Logan believed in many forms of insanity but he knew in that instant watching her trembling frame on the train tracks that hers, that her illness, surpassed any clinical or psychological term known. Maybe she did suffer from depression or bipolar or schizophrenia. Who knew? All he was certain of in that moment that she suffered from no greater illness than the blindness of the heart.
Logan felt like Icarus. He had never felt so free and blissfully alive as he did whenever he was with her. The closer he got to her the higher and happier he felt. Even at the mention of her name his heart would pound incessantly and all the giddy feelings he didn’t quite understand would suddenly reemerge. Every glance upon her blinding beauty cast a shadow upon every other girl for him. Everyone else paled in comparison to her. With every passing moment he had somehow discovered something new and exciting about her. With her by his side he could feel the light breeze flapping against his sides and the warmth of sunshine beating down on his handsome face. This is what it meant to be truly awake. This is what it meant to be in love. But just like Icarus he had gotten too close and had crashed and burned. As he lay crippled in the aftermath of his own destruction he wondered what hurt more the aching pangs of physical pain his body had been subjected to or the raw burning sensation he felt in his heart. He had gladly given her his heart and in return she threw it back in pieces claiming it wasn’t enough. That he wasn’t enough.
As the doctors told him, he wanted to scream out loud and cry. He held his heavy head up and clenched his teeth and fists. “Men don’t cry,” his grandpa used to say. “Men don’t cry.” �8But he cried. Like a baby. He cried till he could feel cracks in his heart as he breathed. He cried till he knew he would never love again.
Hey, it’s Col. I’m standing in a soybean field outside of Gutshot, Tennessee, which is a long story, and it’s hot. K. I’m standing here sweating like I had hyperhidrosis, that disease where you sweat a lot. Crap. That’s not interesting. But anyway, it’s hot, and so I’m thinking about cold to stay cool. And I was remembering walking through the snow coming back from the ridiculous movie. Do you remember that, K? We were on Giddings, and the snow made it so quiet, I couldn’t hear a thing in the world but you. And it was so cold then, and so silent, and I loved you so much. Now it’s hot, and dead quiet again, and I love you still.
But I have made a study of Shadowhunters now, over the past century, and let me tell you that we are more human than most human beings. When our hearts break, they break into shards that cannot be easily fit back together. I envy mundanes their resilience sometimes.
Someone once told her there's a formula for how long it takes to get over someone, that it's half as long as the time you've been together. Hadley has her doubts about how accurate this could possibly be, a calculation so simple for something as complicated as heartbreak.
Nature is fine in love, fine as in thin and delicate, as in not firm. We move to attach, more than we understand, to things and people we love that we feel might be an anchoring point for this fine, precious love. When those anchors disappear, a part of us disappears, too. Well, that’s how it was for me at least.
I still wake longing for your touchSkin open wound rawbecause I was told that's the only way to heal.I couldn't tame youyou weren't meant for domesticationmeant to roam freebut I still rememberthe first time you said "I love you"a whisper barely audibleafraid of choking on your wordsor mineyou preferred me voicelessblank stare submissiveswallowing back years of lost timewaiting for you to change.
And I think missing you hurts the most when something funny happens. Because in that one moment I find myself laughing, and within the next second I want to tell or text you what happened. And then it hits me again, every single time, that you aren’t there anymore. That I lost that one thing that mattered to me.
No wheelchair can support damaged self-esteem until it learns to stand upright. No cane can help emotions limp along until they can walk. A cast or brace can't protect a vulnerable spirit, and not even the strongest painkiller can stop the ache cause by a failed relationship. No, the only way a broken heart mends itself is with stitches of time and the sticky tape of hastily rearranged dreams.
Charity knew that she had to be up early in the morning. And she knew that a weepy, silly, ridiculously old-fashioned love story was not the thing to watch with a broken heart. Nevertheless, she watched. And wept. And was still smiling when she fell asleep at three o'clock in the morning, with the remote in her hand and the telly still going.
My mother calls it the pretty hate.It comes on you like a fever when someone you love up and leaves you with nothing but silence. You turn the hate on yourself as you cannibalize your heart while the rage burns through you and polishes your desperation into a diamond. It is one of the cruelest things in the world to do to another human being.Don’t do that.
Our hearts will be broken a thousand times over, but who is to say that our hearts were ever perfect to begin with? Maybe they can withstand a few cracks. After all, the way that we love is not perfect. We love things to such an incomprehensible depth that these things become worn in. Wouldn’t the most beautiful thing in the world be a heart that has been through all of the wear and tear, as worn in as your favorite sweater that both keeps you warm and grants you a smile in return? That’s the kind of heart that I want. Bruises make for beautiful colors after all.
It can be stolen, but never bought.It can be given, but never taken.It can be stepped on, but cannot walk .It can fly, but has no wings.It can sing, but has no voice.It can be broken, but still it work s.It can be left, even while it follows.And though it’s easily commanded, it can never, ever be demanded.
The ending is coming. I can feel it. I don’t know if I can take it this time. But then again, I say that every time and yet, every time I take it. And, I come back to her again for more. I will take whatever time I can get with her. I will do that for a lifetime. I will. I know that much about myself. She is my water. I can never get enough of her, and it appears that I will die trying to love her, to keep her, to hold her with me, even though our time together seems to evaporate so swiftly. It slips through our fingers so damn fast that we don’t even have time to savor it when we’re together.
I stand still for a long time, holding the note, and let it all sink in. Her leaving is almost palpable like a gale-force wind that’s rolled into my life in the span of a single evening and left behind all this incalculable destruction, both inside and out. Yes, the tempest has passed, but the air around me feels different. I can hardly breathe. Nothing is the same without her. As the lone survivor of her particular storm, I begin to wonder just exactly what I’m supposed to do now.
Say it.""Don't do this to me..." I whispered painfully. "We can't do this again.""You're a horrible liar," Eli growled as he pressed his fingers into my thighs. He watched me, his gaze all-consuming, and said, "Your eyes are as dark as a castle moat by midnight, mi cielo. Lower your drawbridge and let me cross; let me in.""Eli, I-""Forget him. For the next hour and a half, you're going to do everything that makes you wonder in this world. And then I'm going to love you again.
The brain is an incredible multitasker. At the same time that it’s piercing itself with superheated needles of anguish, it’s ruthlessly making plans, contingencies, plotting out a future, giving zero fucks whether it’ll ever see it. On the day I die, it’ll be calculating what to have for dinner as it bombards itself with pain signals from my amputated legs or my clocked-out heart.
The hole in my heart, I can’t even begin to describe. It’s hard when you open your heart and let someone in and then suddenly they’re not in it anymore. It doesn’t matter whose fault it is; that empty spot stings so bad that you want to find any kind of relief, or wrap yourself up so tight you can’t feel it anymore. I knew it might be there a little while. Or maybe even a long while. For both of us.
Why couldn't my heart have picked him? Life would have been so much easier.""Because hearts are ornery, sneaky little bastards, designed to cause misery. They want what they want, and they don't give a damn about what would make life easier or harder for the heart's owner." Della snapped.
I spent the rest of the day doing little more than that. I skipped dinner. I shed a few tears. But mostly, I just sat on my bed thinking and growing more and more depressed. I also discovered the only thing worse than imagining Dimitri and Tasha together was remembering when he and I had been together. He would never touch me again like that, never kiss me again…
In the pause that followed, Shane understood why people said their hearts broke. She always thought it was a weak metaphor of strong emotion. She could feel each bit of shrapnel from her heart stab at her stomach and lungs. Her knees gave out beneath her as she heard the voice tell her what she already knew in her fragments of cardiac tissue.
Because—truth?—on the scale of significance, that stuff doesn’t even register. What has me pushed past the boiling point...what has me really, really upset is learning the woman I thought was so incredibly strong I married her on the spot...is actually a quitter who runs from challenge, a coward too afraid to even try, a liar who makes promises she won’t keep and a cynic too bitter to believe what’s right in front of her face. Is that real enough for you?
She had hope in her heart but after a while, with each step forward, hope stepped back. And for the first time in months, the first time ever, she began to weep, and as she did she knew that with the retreat of hope her heart had finally caught up with her head. And as each tear spilled over she let them go, she was letting go.
But maybe you never really had someone, she thought now. Maybe, no matter how much you loved them, they could slip through your fingers like water, and there was nothing you could do about it. She understood why people talked about hearts "breaking"; she felt as if hers were made of cracked glass, and the shards were like tiny knives inside her chest when she breathed.
Deana Carter sings about it. Lady Antebellum sings about it. Eric Church. Gosh, not just country artists. Katy Perry. Everybody has a song about it because everybody's been through it. You find that person at eighteen and you lose yourself. And the tragedy is, it's the person who's completely opposed to everything you've ever wanted. You bond with that person, and that person breaks your heart. I'm that tragedy for you, and you're mine.
She remained silent. There was nothing left to say. He'd said it all the night before. He had to end it. He could never leave his wife. And, in fact, she had known this. Although she loved him - and truly she did - he wasn't hers. He belonged to his wife. She'd earned him. It didn't matter that he was her first love or that she was his passion. It didn't matter that they had loved one another for more than half their lives. It didn't matter that he had married his wife on the rebound. It didn't matter that he didn't love the woman. It didn't even matter that they had turned into some soap-opera cliche. He was married to someone else and that meant that she was leftovers and destined to remain on the periphery in the shadow of another woman's marriage. But no more. She was well and truly sick of it.
But then Mason touches my neck, to the spot on it where the cut from that night has since healed, and I pull away.He was right, after all; it didn't leave a scar, though part of me wishes it had. At least I'd have some evidence, some justification of this permanence. Stains are even worse when you're the only one who can see them.
You selfish bitch!"She had known for a long time that putting her needs above those of Adam's wife and children was indeed selfish. She had no real answer to the accusation thrown at her."I'm sorry" she said, with her head in her hands."you're sorry?" came her adversary's disbelieving reply."I am. I'm sorry he married you when he was in love with me. I'm sorry I couldn't have loved someone else. I'm sorry your marriage is a joke and I'm sorry that I'm alone. I'm sorry for a lot of things - for you, for your kids, for me and for him. I spend most of my time being sorry."For a moment there was silence at the end of the line."all you had to do was stay away""if only I could have." tears escaped and raced down her cheeks."I hate you!
There is a blessing in losing the one we love. It's the blessing of self-transformation. You don't have to who you were anymore. You've struggled. And now you can change. It doesn't mean that bits of that person won't cling to you, they will throughout your life, but they are now subsumed into something greater. That person has given you, in fact, the most important blessing, which is they gave you the blessing of transforming your soul into something better, something more beautiful.
You reached into my chest with your words. When you spoke, my heart danced. Love muddled thoughts based in reason. Interest withered like a flower in dry heat then your words wrapped themselves around my heart and yanked it from my body. Now I stand bewildered by the sight of my heart beating on the cold concrete floor.
I say, "Well then I don't know if it was real, and that makes me feel like I'm going insane again.""Absolutely it was real. It was a real, partial picture. Because it ended preemptively, things you would have learned about him in the relationship, you are instead learning in the breakup. You have learned that he has a desperate desire for intimacy and then a desperate desire for the cave. He will get lonely there eventually and come back.""To me?"He doesn't pause. "To someone new.""And I'll have to watch another girl?""You will have to, but you will also know what lies ahead for that poor girl.
I had that feeling you have when you're watching a sad movie, sobbing at the heartbreak you are feeling at the same time that you know the heartbreak isn't exactly real, that it will be gone by the time you get home and make a cup of tea. I found a lot of life like that when I was younger, as though I was practicing for what came later.
It's only a heartache. It isn't a tragedy. A tragedy would be losing the father of my children to cancer. This I wrestle with the hardest. There are thirty-one flavors of pain, like Baskin Robbins in hell. Am I allowed to feel pain at a breakup? When there is so much other shit going on in this world? Love is extremely serious. I don't think this is trivial.
It's like he has emotional amnesia... I think you have to accept that the person you knew isn't there at the moment. I was witness to how much he loved you. I have the photos. This isn't the person we knew. I don't recognize this person. He's shed his skin." Her heart is broken too. She has to say the thing that will give me back my life. She draws on every reserve. I see how much it hurts her and it hurts me too. I came from her joy and her pain, I lived in it and I live in it now.
I finally accept that not only do I not understand the death of my relationship, but I do not need to. These men were good and kind to me, they loved me and I loved them back and the shock at the finish holds no wisdom. The revelation is not that I lost them, but that I had them.
You may right now be nursing a broken heart. Friends will say, "Aren't you glad you had the experience anyway?" And you may say "No." Eventually, unbelievably, you may not remember the boy that triggered it all. You'll recall all the places you visited, but not how you got there. You'll remember the songs that you listened to.
A broken heart is something even I can’t protect you from. I’ve been alone for so long, and believe me, all that does is provide a false sense of security. Being alone doesn’t erase the deep yearning that exists in all of us. We are not solitary creatures. You have to love and open your heart. If not, what is it we are trying to save? When it swallows you whole, remember it means you’ve lived.
...I never would have seen Chelsea reach up, take Logan's face in her hands, and kiss him. So the off again was definitely on again. And I knew then that Patrick was very wrong about my heart, because if it had actually been an encyclopedia I could have watched it all with perfect composure.
...because there will never be any boy's wrist to tie the balloon of your helium heart to (it has floated high far away from the heavy stone of that unnameable boy in chicago), you would never be with someone and then someone else, and you would definitely never be someone to someone else's else.
All at once it was just too much, and Harvey felt something about to snap. He drew back into the shadowy side of the doorway, out of site. Then he slid down the wall to the ground and put his palm over his mouth to hold in his breath and his feelings both. He'd forced in more air then he could hold, and his lungs were burning. More importantly, his heart hurt... He wished he hadn't eavesdropped.
We cannot love a person with an all accepting, transcending and encompassing love without being hurt somewhat, without being disappointed, without being failed of our expectations. We cannot love without being broken, yet we cannot continue in love without being stronger than our brokenness.
No matter how many movies you watch, songs you listen to, and friends you talk to, you will never understand heartbreak. You want to disappear, crying feels like bleeding, the world is spinning. You watch a movie you have seen ten times, a song you’ve listened to a hundred times and a friend you’ve been talking to for a thousand days and suddenly it’s like your hearing everything for the first time. For the first time you’ve opened your heart and your mind, you want to listen, you want to heal others. For the first time you feel destroyed. The word pain cannot do what you are feeling justice. It is beyond pain, beyond fury, beyond sadness. You feel everything but nothing at once. Shocked. Numb. Empty. But I had also felt compassion that day, empathy for a heart that I had once broke. Love for all of those who had not broken my heart. Appreciation for all of those who had mended hearts. Happiness for all who had secured their hearts. The day that I first met heartbreak, the day that I got my heart snatched away from me, happens to be the day that I first found my heart as well.
Not to be with the one you love, Laura, the one person you should be spending your life with--it’s like a kind of living death. To wake up every morning and know you are still here. To have that brief, sweet moment of blankness, before your mind reminds you who you are, and why you are unhappy. It was like hell. A living hell of the heart’s own making.
They died together; they'll always be remembered together. It's decided, once and for all. He was hers. The rumors don't matter; they'll fade...People may remember it was suicide, but my name won't be attached. It will just be two lovers, fused together forever.
I always say that anybody who’s single ― like Sara ― their love is the most intense love. The heartbreak they’re enduring is the most intense heartbreak. We cannot understand what Sara’s going through. When it’s love, it’s my love, you can’t understand it. You can’t compare. But I really related to where Sara was on this record. When she was writing these songs and coming to me like: You don’t understand, I was like: You’re right, but I also do.
I wonder what you want from meServed you my heart on a silver platterAnd I watched you devour itEating daintily with your forks and your knivesWatched you stab me downWatched you cut me offAnd during every single second of itI gazed at you with lovedAs you ate your fill of meAnd tossed the rest in the trash
People say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. They say that when you been through something terrible ... But it doesn't. It breaks your bones, leaving everything splintered and held together with grubby bandages and yellowing sticky tape. Creaking along the fault lines, Fragile and exhausting to hold together. Sometimes you wish it had killed you.
I feel as though the end is never worth the pain of fearingYou listen to the words I say without ever truly hearingI've noticed you are simply just another human beingYou look into my eyes and smile without ever truly seeingI no longer see the point in trying to be overbearingBecause you told me that you loved me without ever truly caring
But then I remembered that our heartsdidn’t care about logic or time. My heart didn’t play by rules that my mind made up. It didn’t follow silly timelines or measure its feelings based on the number of days it had known someone. No, hearts simply felt, whether you wanted them to or not.
Her bright green eyes pop against the smudged black mascara. There’s so much pain hidden inside those liquid pools, and I want to unravel her.I’d like to soften up her edges till they’re so blurry I’m the only thing she can focus on, the only thing she can see. I need to light a fire where her heart has been left cold and hardened, rearranging her broken pieces around mine in a way I can make them fit together. I want to crawl inside of her so deep she can’t use me like she’s used to and then get rid of me and forget we happened.
I read once that the best thing that can happen to a woman is to get her heart broken. Before that, she has no real sense of herself. No real sense of pain, because only in love does she know what it’s like to find the one thing that gives her breath and then to lose it. After that she knows she can survive. No matter what relationships come and go, she can count on herself to pull through, and although it hurts, the break is necessary.
A photograph may speak to the photographer's envy or disappointment just as much as it may reveal his anger or disapproval. And even if a photograph records a joyous occasion, behind it there may still be more than a small measure of heartbreak on the part of the photographer. A small measure of heartbreak? One might think such a thing is impossible--if your heart is broken, then surely it is broken completely. Yet the truth is that we can live with a minor fault-line in the heart--most of us do, in one way or another.
To the delicate,You will fall for the rough ones. the cold ones. the ones filled with apathy. you will spend your time counting their affection in change. you will stuff your pockets with silence. you will settle for second hand love. Delicate, you will be fashioned in the art of forgiveness. you will love like it’s a religion. you will memorize birthdays, phone numbers, and the moments you’ve heard goodbye. and when life becomes unyielding, and the burden too heavy, you will fault yourself. blame the material you are made of. say that you rip too easy, expect too much, give too often. you are a well that keeps on leaking. but even if you overflow, even if the thunder finds your home, you must remain soft. and if they have broken your heart, allow it to make you softer. kinder. do not imitate the cruel. do not allow yourself to take the shape of those who hurt you.
We were never meant to be together.Stars never aligned for us, they alwaysdiverged our paths from each other.Too close, but never enough.Minute hands were never slow enoughfor us to catch up, but fast enough we’reslipping from its grasp.We were never meant to be together, butthat doesn’t mean I love you any less.
Cassie, stop. I can't do this.' He pulls back to meet my hurt gaze.'I know why you're doing this.' I draw a breath, letting it out on a long exhale. 'You don't trust me with your heart. You're afraid if you give it to me there's a chance it could be broken, again.''It's been shattered once. I'm afraid next time it won't get broken. It'll be obliterated,' he says quietly.I press a single kiss to his lip. 'You're my Superman. You're not supposed to be afraid of anything.''Even Superman had weaknesses.
I gripped hold of that scarf like my life depended on it. Still to this day I inhale it every night, despite what has happened over the years. I don’t blame her now for not waiting. For all she knew, I wouldn’t return. But to marry him, god, she could have done so much better.
He looks at me. His face is dotted with raindrops but I think there are tears too. 'I love her. I always have. You know that.' 'And me?'And I known he means how I feel about him and me kissing him.'You're my friend, Gabriel.''Do you kiss all your friends like that?' But he asks it without the harshness of his other questions. It's a real question.'Just you.
Okay, let's recap.So I lost a few good things, but wait;There's other fish in the sea.And my heart's still here: the bait.It has a few cracksAnd a couple of shark bites,But it's alright.A bleeding heart is never one to wait in the water for long.I wonder what my next catch will be..
Kintsugi is a pottery technique. When something breaks, like a vase, they glue it back together with melted gold. Instead of making the cracks invisible, they make them beautiful. To celebrate the history of the object. What it's been through. And I was just... Thinking of us like that. My heart full of gold veins, instead of cracks.
Love is such a cruel thing. One minute you've been texting them for hours, hoping he'll ask you ask on a date, or just telling you how he feels about you. Next minute, he's saying the stupid, "No it's me not you. We can just be friends." While I'm crying my eyes out hoping you may take me back. Cause I don't want to be friends.
Heartbreak is awful, but truth be told, if you have never had your heart broken, then you aren't fully living. I want you to ask yourself this question because I want you to bask in the fullness of life. And in order to feel life - to experience life - you need to take risks. When you open your heart, you risk having it broken; or stated more accurately it will be broken. But do it anyway; open yourself up. If you don't, you will never know what it means to live, to love and to be with others.
He's the kind of guy who might not have an expiration date. Who I could fall for so completely that I might as well put my heart in a blender right now because it would hurt less. Who I could want with the kind of passion that makes you forget important things like the promises you make to yourself.
Do you fancy catching a movie at the Sturbridge Theater tonight? That new Robert Pattinson movie is showing,” I ask her, the phone cradled against my chest.“Definitely sign me up for that!” Ari replies, chuckling as I mock scowl. Her easy laugh warms my soul. “We’re in,” I tell Gil, arranging to meet him and his date in the diner later. “So, who is it this time?” Ari asks, resting her chin in her hands. “Anyone we know?” Considering I can count the girls on one hand who have enjoyed more than one date with Gil, I doubt it’ll be someone familiar. “I didn’t ask; guess we’ll find out soon enough.”“Five bucks says it’s a blonde,” Ari quips. “That’s one bet I’m not taking,” I admit, twirling a lock of her hair around my finger. “Gil’s penchant for blondes is world-renowned.
I can feel Ari’s mounting excitement the farther we walk. She’s bouncing up and down like a kangaroo on speed. I feel the bulk of the box pressing against my leg as we walk, and I contemplate all that I’ve decided to tell her tonight. Lifting my head, I stare in awe at the light of a thousand stars illuminating the dark, night sky. The setting really couldn’t be any more romantic, any more perfect.
To people who think I’m happy, just look again; the scars of my past will lead you to a place no one knows, a place no other person can imagine, a place that echoes with the desolate cries of a lonely heart, a place where I’m being stabbed to death hundreds of times.
The greatest drawback to true love was that once true love unexpectedly ends there is no other romance that can replace it. Romance instead becomes a race, with one’s new beau consistently failing to meet up to the grand expectations set by the meaning of one’s existence. The only one.
I think a lover, when broken, is given a gift not a scar, not a poem, not a rhyme (unless it fits.) I think as humans, we see a set of hues but when wounded, we see something more: deeper shades of hurt and worry, colors never seen before. Because I can’t imagine a child could see the same black as a widower, and I don’t think healthy hearts know the true meaning of blue. When children close their eyes, they see a color they call empty. But in the eyelids of the bruised, the empty black’s a crowded room.
Jase opened his door, stepped down, and leaned into her window. “Hungry?”Taking a big breath didn’t help when his sexy scent of cologne had hit her in the face. Hallelujah. “Yeah, I’m getting there.” “Let’s go. The cowboy just came to take you away.” He reached in and turned off the ignition, clasped her keys and opened the door. When she stepped out, he didn’t bother to move back any and they were close. This man was hot and not only his temperature. Whatever kind of chemistry radiated off him, soaked right into her.
Heartbreak comes in many forms: infidelity, lies, or a simple, old fashioned break-up. But, there's another reason no one ever thinks about when it comes to heartbreak. It's something that outweighs the fear of being alone, and tells the brokenhearted individual that he or she will never find love again.
I have googled 'how long does heartbreak last?' The result more popular than that was 'how long does heartburn last?' This implies people suffer from heartburn more than they do heartbreak which is a good thing because heartbreak sucks way fucking more than acid reflux ever could.
Teach me how to love you so goodour hearts will be beatingthunderouslyagainst our ribcagesstraining to get out.For so long I have only knownhow to hurt.There are scars on my body likeconstellations. The one on my hip was from when I was sixand I learned my parents were the Titanic and the iceberg.My wrist has a faint bruisereminding me of when I gave myselfto a boy who crashed and burnedand took me down with him.Heartbreak sounds a lot likea slamming door.Show me it doesn’t have to be this way,I want to be proven wrong.Teach me how to love right.
I've been looking so long at these pictures of youThat I almost believe that they're real I've been living so long with my pictures of youThat I almost believe that the pictures are All I can feelRemembering You standing quiet in the rain As I ran to your heart to be near And we kissed as the sky fell inHolding you close How I always held close in your fearRemembering You running soft through the night You were bigger and brighter and wider than snowAnd screamed at the make-believe Screamed at the skyAnd you finally found all your courage To let it all goRemembering You fallen into my arms Crying for the death of your heart You were stone whiteSo delicate Lost in the cold You were always so lost in the darkRemembering You how you used to be Slow drowned You were angelsSo much more than everything Hold for the last time then slip away quietly Open my eyes But I never see anythingIf only I'd thought of the right words I could have held on to your heart If only I'd thought of the right wordsI wouldn't be breaking apart All my pictures of youLooking so long at these pictures of you But I never hold on to your heart Looking so long for the words to be trueBut always just breaking apartMy pictures of youThere was nothing in the worldThat I ever wanted more Than to feel you deep in my heartThere was nothing in the world That I ever wanted moreThan to never feel the breaking apartAll my pictures of you
I took one last look at the man who owned my body and soul for so many years. His face twisted into a mask of sheer devastation. I wanted to reach out and console him, to say everything would work out. It wouldn’t though, not until he put his family before his career.“I never thought our love story had an end,” Luke said faintly.Clicking the door shut, I slid down the wooden frame into a heap on the floor. Sobs racked my body as I echoed the same sentiments in my head. Our love story shouldn’t have had an end. Only a beginning.
It's not the loving that hurts this girl; it's the understanding of it for what it is, that it will never be returned in the same way, that threatens to destroy her. But to unload the words - "I love you" - on an innocent party who didn't ask for it, to reach across the dark space and touch him - it's like the world she knows could end if she dared speak these words, dared make such a move.
No amount of soul searching would fix my past. There was no magical Band-Aid I could stick on my heart, no special glue I could use to make myself whole again. I had shattered to pieces like a fragile vase on concrete; some fragments could be roughly cobbled back together, but many of my vital parts had simply turned to dust, pulverized and scattered by the first gust of wind.
Why?” I asked, confused. Why did he care?“Why what?”“Why was he having a panic attack?”She stared at me with her eyes wide before she leaned in. “Lila…because he thought he’d lost you; he thought you were dead.”“He didn’t have me to lose.” My breathing picked up as the emotional pain tightened my chest. “He threw me away.
My heart didn’t break into a thousand pieces after he left. Instead, I realized all the things he didn’t do. He didn’t want to hear my stories. He didn’t ask me questions. He didn’t smile when I was talking to him. He didn’t hug me out of the blue to make me feel good. His hugs were always a preamble to something else and after he was gone, I wondered if he ever knew me at all.
Realize that the tests you endure will mold your character, persona, and will. The more heartbreak and pain you will feel with your trials in life, the greater your joy and glory will be once you've overcome. Not IF, not POSSIBLY, not MAYBE, but ONCE you have overcome.
Looking back, I wonder if mom saw it in my eyes: the storm clouds gathering, the dry crackle of electricity in the air. But it was already too late. No warning sirens were going to save me. I guess you never really know the danger, not until you’re the one left, huddled on the ground, surrounded by the pieces of your broken heart.
For some reason, the despair that's welling up in me is transforming into white-hot rage. I feel it working its way up from my toes, winding around my legs, and burrowing into the pit of my stomach. It spears its razor-sharp tendrils through the pieces of my broken heart. It's crippling, and devastating, and unrelenting. I have only one choice to survive this; I turn that rage outward.
The harder you slam a ball into the ground, the higher it bounces back up... A divorce, a breakup, losing a job, or just feeling seriously down can ground you, rough you up a bit, leave calluses on your feet and grit under your finger nails. But more than that, it leaves you wiser and stronger next time... Life is about experiencing opposites isn’t it?
What happens when someone breaks your heart? When someone breaks your heart, first you are shocked. Someone will say you are heartbroken and you examine the words break and heart and heartbroken and you immediately decide that it's inaccurate. You feel pain in the region of your heart and you think it's your heart breaking but one's heart doesn't really break, something else does - faith. You stop believing.
Love is fragile at best and often a burden or something that blinds us. It's fodder for poets and song writers and they build it into something beyond human capacity. Falling in love means enrolling yourself in the school of disappointment. Being human means failing each other often, and no two people fail each other more than two people who pledge to do things for each other that they'll never do because they are just incapable of it...That's why art is enduring. The look of love or hope, or the look of compassion, bravery, whatever, is captured forever. We spend our lives trying to get someone to be as enduring as a painting or a sculpture and we can't because feelings crumble as quickly as the flesh.
She was telling me that I had a life of disappointment before me if I continued to love him as I did. A love that is too strong can turn poisonous and bring great unhappiness. And then, what is the remedy? Can you unlearn your heart's desire? Can you stop loving someone? Easier to drown yourself; easier to take the lover's leap.
He walked out the door and with each step my heart breaks.He'd be gone for days with long silences between each breath.I know I'm his one of many and he knows he's my one of one. The only one who holds him down.Yet, he still leaves.He walks through the door and with each step my heart leaps.He crumbles to the ground in tears telling me he's sorry.He says he needs me and he's nothing without me.How can he be so attached and detached at the same time?I swear, this man loves to see me in pain.
You say that love is nonsense. ... I tell you it is no such thing. For weeks and months it is a steady physical pain an ache about the heart never leaving one by night or by day a long strain on one's nerves like toothache or rheumatism not intolerable at any one instant but exhausting by its steady drain on the strength.