A romance book is designed to tell you something about love-its ability to endure, forgive, go the extra mile, care about someone, put someone else first.
Remind thyself that he whom thou lovest is mortal that what
thou lovest is not thine own; it is given thee for the present, not
irrevocably nor for ever, but even as a fig or a bunch of grapes at
the appointed season of the year
Maybe sometimes we can only see the truth about ourselves if someone shows us where to look.
Well, then, why should I listen to my heart?”
“Because you will never again be able to keep it quiet.
Yield, and I’ll eat your little pussy… first.
I am able to separate the mythological aspects of my religion from the practical ones. Jesus, his sacrifice, the Gospels? Those are true to me. Angels, demons, burning bushes, Revelations? Primitive people trying to express the ineffable. I don’t need to be a biblical literalist to love my God.
Never forget as you enter your inner sanctuary that your whole relationship with God depends on what you think of sin and of yourself as a redeemed sinner.
My vegetable love will grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
She leans over the desk to write and even though I feel bad for doing it, I watch her body as she does. Her shirt lifts just a little as she’s bending over and whether she’s aware of it or not, her lower back is exposed. I’ve spent the last eight years ignoring this girl, but one small view of her back and it’s putting my body into overdrive.
I’ve never wanted to kiss someone there so much in my life.
I think I feel it
The nimble, fleeting emotion
That novels and authors desperately
Try to convey in ink and heart blood
Whose shadow festers in the loins
Of teenagers and their insatiability
The hidden thing none of us can see
Yet we all disagree what it looks like
If only it were love… simple, infinite love
But this was more, this was bloodshot madness.