Tag: love

  • howfreeitis:

    I try so hard to recall the location of that time:
    I was lost, you were high; something sweet and sublime.
    Back when I used to think every look on your face
    Was some confirmation of a feeling or a place.
    We had playful arguments over theodicy,
    With underlying remnants of hypocritical duplicity.

    You were lying to me.
    You were lying to me.
    You were lying to me.

    There is no forgiveness for mimicry.

    Because
    The God you so vehemently professed
    With a deceitful heart such as yours would never be impressed.     

  • realistic-idealist:

    it’s weird, realizing that we’re never going to find that one person who will understand us like we’ve always wanted to be understood.

    Never say never…the trick is to be paying attention at the time that that person does come along, and be sure not to be distracted by the irrelevant, or the insignificant, or worse still the aesthetic. We’re so busy conjuring up images of perfection in what we’re looking for in someone that we want as a soul mate, or at least a true companion, that we forget to notice that those conjured images are focused on the packaging and not the substance.

    We seek someone who will understand us, love us unconditionally, and accept us with all our flaws, but when they come along, we’re not willing to accept them because they’re not fair enough, trendy enough, cultured enough or socially acceptable enough, and all they end up being is a great person but…

    So instead of conjuring up images of what the perfect partner will be like, wouldn’t that time be better spent realising what’s really important? We always seem to know what we want, but rarely what we need. In a time when sensationalism and masks are in vogue, it’s almost impossible to obtain a clarity of thought that would allow for a distinction between the mundane and the significant, the urgent and the important, or the reality from the dream.

    This is not a critique of the original post, or the blogger…simply a vent of a passion that the post aroused within me. Thank you for sharing that thought.

  • Love lights more fires than hate extinguishes

    ~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

  • Another Brain Dump…

    I wish I could see myself through the eyes of others. It would save me so much energy, and spare me so much grief. Self-imposed grief because of my demented view of myself. But in the absence of affirmation to the contrary, it’s the only perception I can rely on. And I’m not about to articulate that demented view to anyone, so there’s no chance of that perception being tampered with reality, or optimism for that matter. 

    My desperation for a partner, a companion, a cloak for my soul never recedes. I’m distracted from it by whimsical fascinations from time to time, but there’s nothing to distract me from it when I sit alone in a crowded space smiling and interacting with others knowing that there’s no one about to lean over my shoulder to unexpectedly whisper something into my ear…something that only they know will bring a smile to my face, or make my chest constrict with excitement. No one to place an affectionately assuring hand to cup my cheek and chin from behind while sneaking a kiss on my other cheek. No one to look behind my eyes and smile a piercing smile that unsettles me, no matter how many times they smile that smile.

    So I remind myself that I need to be more optimistic about life, and in the process I forget that that in itself is already optimism. My expressed need for inclusion is disproportionate to my need for inclusion, and so my independence, my aloofness, my oftentimes smug sense of portrayed confidence will protect my tormenting secrets of loneliness, which is exactly what I want, but not at all what I need. What I need is someone to want to be there doing all those things, not because I asked them, nor because I promised the same in return, but simply because, like me, they have a desire to want to give of themselves without the expectation of reciprocation, but simply to feel the appreciation it deserves. 

    It seems I dream more than I do. I hope more than I expect. I die more than I live.

  • howfreeitis:

    I often think of the boys who were attracted to me simply out of the virtue that I was introspective and elusive. They didn’t want to be with me because of my questionable beauty, my wavering intellect, or my neutral morality. It was primarily because I was dramatic in my constant reflections. Everyone, regardless of their good or bad humour, has a place deep down in which they question their existence and their inherent value. The size of this place differs from person to person, but it is nearly always there, to even a minuscule degree. And here is me, who is nearly totally filled with this place, whose quotidian inner monologues consist almost solely of “Why am I alive?” and “Why won’t I die?” I suppose many people find refuge in someone whose very existence is defined in this questioning, and in a sense someone like me can reflect that loneliness and pain that is so common in everyone. Perhaps I am a temporary relief, a bandage for your loneliness. I am a form of comfort, of release, in your infrequent quests for appropriation. And yet, one can only be introspective for so long, and that is why people grow tired of me. Initially, I give an air of quiet desperation. Since with me, every moment seems to carry the gravity of eons of absolution. This adds virtue and magnitude to your being. But in the end, we all become exhausted with purpose. In the end, we all want the complacency of boredom. And that is why most people forget me after a while.

  • Come Here and Get to Know Me

    j-r-morgan:

    You don’t know me. 

    To know me

    you have to love me.

    You can love me.

    Come here and love me.

    Allow this introduction start

    to be our blank canvas of love art.

    Let me share paint love beauty

    within across the gentle rising of your chest

    with the gentle rhythms strokes of my heart tongue.

    And if you like you can unravel the stitching,

    poking holes where you see fit,

    desired effect of love paint seeping through.

    We can share this adoration art

    as we trickle it across the floors,

    splashing it around with our hearts fingers.

    We can fill the days with it,

    blissful as it soaks into all the trees,

    enchanted as the flowers turn an aquamarine,

    inspired as the raccoons turn a vivid blue.

    We can recolor the dirt and granular rocks

    with a more desirable and inviting hue

    so that both children and grown ups alike

    will dream play in sand boxes, enlivened fascinated once again.

    If you’d like it swim in indigo oceans

    and witness chrome red passions laughter

    we can decorate every facet of this world

    with our display of uninhibited amour shades.

    Or if you’d prefer to create a more introspective

    romance art we can keep the tints within,

    as we discover the bronze and sapphire dyes of our limbs.

    This is love art and this is an expression of art love.

    If you’d like to explore create all you’ve ever dreamt to see

    come here and love get to know me.

    by: me.

    9.22.11

    * This was the most enjoyable piece I’ve yet to write.  I feel happy 🙂

  • If anticipation of death is supposedly worse than death itself, how much more torturous is the anticipation of love or acceptance that is never fulfilled? At least death will be attained, so its anticipation is never a futile exercise. But love?

  • At some point you will realize that you have done too much for someone, that the only next possible step to do is to stop. Leave them alone. Walk away. It’s not like you’re giving up, and it’s not like you shouldn’t try. It’s just that you have to draw the line of determination from desperation. What is truly yours will eventually be yours, and what is not, no matter how hard you try, will never be.

    Unknown