( one )
You look up at the billions of stars that you never knew existed, and you think it's crazy because people all over the world are looking up at the same stars you are, and you wonder if they're thinking of what you're thinking or if they're wishing for what you're wishing for.
( two )
Here's what I think. We all want someone to build a fort with. We want somebody to swap crayons with and play hide-and-seek with a live out imaginary stories with. We start out getting that from our family. Then we get it from our friends. And then, for whatever reasons, we get it in our heads that we need to get that feeling - that intimacy - from a single someone else. We call it growing up. But really, when you take sex out of it, what we want is a companion. And we make that so dam hard to find.
- Are We There Yet? by David Levithan
( three )
I heard what you said. I'm not the silly romantic you think. I don’t want the heavens or the shooting stars. I don’t want gemstones or gold. I have those things already. I want…a steady hand. A kind soul. I want to fall asleep, and wake, knowing my heart is safe. I want to love, and be loved.
( four )
My father had taught me to be nice first, because you can always be mean later, but once you've been mean to someone, they won't believe the nice any more. So be nice, be nice, until it's time to stop being nice, then destroy them.
( five )
I wonder what it’s like to have someone fall for you. And I mean really fall for you. Not just they want to get in your pants because they think you’re attractive. But be consumed with every little piece of you. The way you talk, the way you laugh, the way you just exist. To everyone in love: you don’t know how lucky you are.
( six )
“Lately I’ve been thinking about who I want to love, and how I want to love, and why I want to love the way I want to love, and what I need to learn to love that way, and who I need to become to become the kind of love I want to be… and when I break it all down, when I whittle it into a single breath, it essentially comes out like this : Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.”
– Andrea Gibson
( seven )
When you love someone, there’s a pattern to the way you come together. You might not even realize it, but your bodies are choreographed: a touch on the hip, a stroke of the hair. A staccato kiss, break away, a longer one, his hand slipping under your shirt. It’s a routine, but not in the boring sense of the word. It’s just the way you’ve learned to fit, and its why, when you've been with one guy for a long time, your teeth do not scrape together when you kiss; you do not bump noses or elbows.
( eight )
Every day the sand and sea still meet to kiss each other undeniably. Even if sand pushes away the sea or if sea decided to rather spend some time with the other fishes underneath, something has always drawn the two back to each other eventually, like it was meant to be, as if they were made for nobody else.
( nine )
For her, I changed pebbles into diamonds, shoes into mirrors, I changed glass into water, I gave her wings and pulled birds from her ears and in her pockets she found feathers. I asked a pear to become a pineapple, a pineapple to become a light bulb, a light bulb to become the moon, and the moon to become a coin I flipped for her love, both sides were heads: I knew I couldn’t lose.
( ten )
Quit being stubborn and let me wrap my legs around your waist. I’ll gladly let you carry me in your warm embrace and I’ll kiss away your scowl until your mouth invites me inside. My arms will lace themselves around your neck and you can pull me closer until we melt into each other.
( eleven )
I don’t know just where I’m going and tomorrow am a little overwhelming. And the air is cold and I'm not the same any more. I've been running in your direction for far too long now. I've lost my own reflection. And I can’t look down if you’re not there to catch me when I fall.
( twelve )
My heart, it’s like my chest can barely contain it, like it doesn’t belong to me any more. It belongs to you. If you wanted it, I’d give it to you for nothing in exchange; no gifts, no god, no demonstrations of devotion, nothing but knowing you love me too. Just your heart, in exchange for mine.
( thirteen )
He wanted to ask her what sound a heart made when it broke from pleasure, when just the sight of someone filled you the way food, blood, and air never could, when you felt as if you’d been born for only one moment and this, for whatever reason, was it.
( fourteen )
I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self-respect. And it’s these things I’d believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn't all she should be. I love her and it is the beginning of everything.
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
( fifteen )
How do you write about feathers? The magic of dream catchers? The art of dreaming? How do you write about nightmares that haunt you? Ghosts from your past? Clouds in the sky? The swirls of smoke from a cigarette? The blood that rushes through you? Your heart beating? I want to tell you about my demons. The thoughts that lurk in the back of my mind. The things I see in the shadows. My innermost wishes. My vices, my faults. Everything that makes me who I am.
( sixteen )
You wrapped your arms around me, pressing your body against mine. And in that moment of perfection, I knew we were meant to be. I never wanted you to let go.
( seventeen )
Keep drinking too much, keep cutting your hair, and change every little thing about you that’s making me stay. Keep harassing my friend, keep sleeping with the skank next door; repeat every mistake I’m too willing to forgive.
( eighteen )
Remind me again just what you were saying when you walked in the room when the music was playing. When I was lost too, but in my own thoughts. And I could not find you. Tell me your story, I'm listening this time. I can get us some glasses and a bottle of wine. We can sit on the carpet, sit on the table, or sit on the moon. You can reach for my hand. You can say what you like.
( nineteen )
The more connections you and your lover make, not just between your bodies, but between your minds, your hearts, and your souls, the more you will strengthen the fabric of your relationship, and the more real moments you will experience together.
( twenty )
If I pretend to be the air will you breathe me in deeply? And will you love me as a necessity – not an option? Would you spare me and breathe me out softly, with smiles and love? Please breathe me softly.
( twenty-one )
There is an infinite, thrumming, unseen web that joins everything. Everything is connected to everything else. But this fact is nearly impossible for us to grasp because we are just molluscs shut up tight at the bottom of a dark, cold ocean, trying to make sense of stars that we cannot even see.
( twenty-two )
The wonderful thing about falling in love is that you learn everything about that person so quickly. And if it's true love, then you start to see yourself through their eyes and it brings out the best in you. It’s almost like you're falling in love with yourself.
( twenty-three )
I have always lived violently, drunk hugely, eaten too much or not at all, slept around the clock or missed two nights of sleeping, worked too hard and too long in glory, or slobbed for a time in utter laziness. I’ve lifted, pulled, chopped, climbed, made love with joy and taken my hangovers as a consequence, not as a punishment.
( twenty-four )
In some ways you’re pretty lucky. You opened your heart, you put yourself out there; you were ready to make that leap. I’m envious; I wish I knew what that felt like - to find someone who makes you want to swim across the east river in January.
( twenty-five )
The good times and the bad times both will pass. It will pass. It will get easier. But the fact that it will get easier does not mean that it doesn’t hurt now. And when people try to minimize your pain they are doing you a disservice. And when you try to minimize your own pain you’re doing yourself a disservice. Don’t do that. The truth is that it hurts because it’s real. It hurts because it mattered. And that’s an important thing to acknowledge to yourself. But that doesn’t mean that it won’t end, that it won’t get better. Because it will.
( twenty-six )
"Even now, all possible feelings do not yet exist; there are still those that lie beyond our capacity and our imagination. From time to time, when a piece of music no one has ever written or a painting no one has ever painted, or something else impossible to predict, fathom or yet describe takes place, a new feeling enters the world. And then, for the millionth time in the history of feeling, the heart surges and absorbs the impact."
( twenty-seven )
Somewhere between kissing at red lights, his longing looks, the whisperings of ‘good morning’ in between our morning breath and those crumpled sheets; I forgot to keep my heart closed. I forgot to keep my heart closed.
( twenty-eight )
I’m not saying that at some point love isn’t staying up until 2am phone calls or stealing kisses when you least expect it, or instantly falling for each other’s favorite songs because it is, or at least that’s what the lead up to it feels like, but real love, is so much more. It’s going out at 12am to get something to eat for your wife who can’t get out of bed; it’s listening to them as they explode with vulnerability on your living room couch talking about how they were only so young when they’re parents passed on. it’s remembering how someone likes their coffee in the morning without asking—without ever asking, it’s visiting someone in the hospital knowing the last thing you want to do is see them in that condition, it’s wanting to be with that person despite everything, the future, the past, and everything in between, it’s the intimate things that you don’t even realize involve such intimacy, but they do, in secret, like the pinky promises you two made behind your back, to love one another for always, in the time you thought you were in love, when you were actually just on your way to it.
( twenty-nine )
To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, and irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable
( thirty )
Every day that goes by, it seems like I discover something new about you to love. It’s incredible to me how one person can make such a big difference in my life. You touch me in a way no one else ever has and you give me so many reasons to love you.
( thirty-one )
Is it enough to write a song, and sing it to the birds? They’d hear just the tune, not understand my love for words, but you would hear me and know…I want only this. I’ll kiss you awake, and we’ll have time to know our neighbours all by name, and every star at night. We’ll weave our days together like waves and particles of light.
( thirty-two )
We are all a volume on a shelf of a library, a story unto ourselves, never possibly described with one word or even very accurately with thousands. A person is never as quiet or unrestrained as they seem, or as bad or good, as vulnerable or as strong, as sweet or as feisty; we are thickly layered, page upon lying page, behind simple covers. And love - it is not the book itself, but the binding. It can rip us apart or hold us together.
( thirty-three )
I'm carrying the memory, of these things, inside of me. I greet them with humility; they're with me for eternity. I'm telling you, with sincerity in what you do and what you are. These don't follow you, like you follow me and be with you for eternity.
( thirty-four )
A kiss was mysterious and powerful, fragile and invisible. Like any spark, a kiss might fizzle into nothing, or consume an entire forest. A kiss was no laughing matter. Not for the wary. A kiss could change the world.
( thirty-five )
"I loved her. Everything about her. I loved her carefree smile, her sarcastic comments, and her laugh. I loved the way the wind blew her messy dark hair when we’re at the park. I loved when she cried whenever we watched a movie. I loved her brown eyes, even when they were blazing and especially when they were warm. I loved when she looked so soft and vulnerable when I kissed her, her tough facade fading. I loved the feel it gave me whenever I hugged her. It was like she was born to fit in my arms.
- Aaron Ford