Short and Sweet
The girl used to sit close to the boy at recess because she knew he had secret pockets full of toffees and he only offered them to his special friends.
She didn’t pay him much mind, but somehow the older she grew the sweeter the shiny brown toffees became. So although she has finished school she still comes to sit in the park with him on Sunday afternoons and they suck toffees like schoolchildren again. They are too old for candy and games but they forget that.
Secretly she hopes he knows it isn’t the toffees she comes for anymore.
we were together for four months.
she was charismatic, and i was desparate.
we gave each other everything, because we would have lost it otherwise.
she lives far away now, somewhere where there's no cell phone reception and wildflowers blossom uncontrollably.
i still hear her laughing, in every single corner of my thoughts.
She sat at the table, head in her hands, the tears flowing freely.
She couldn’t believe the words she had just spoken, shards of glass that must have pierced his fragile shell.
Much later, she resolutely set off for the café, where she found him as she knew she would, staring blankly at nothing.
After a while, her palm crept out to cover his hand.
His palm turned into hers, their fingers instinctively fitting together, as he looked at her, the hurt fighting the love.
It was by the ocean that they first met, bumping into each other as they ran away from separate parties. When they looked into each other’s eyes, they knew the other one was the one, holding hands they stared out at the ocean and a setting sun. They are now always together, wife and husband. Two little children, two young girls. Their life is happy, they are happy, love is what makes them a family.
A love story
Years rolled by in unison and we stand by our vows …- till death do us apart. A journey through our awkward teens, vibrant youth and proud parenthood; while growing old together. It started with courting & frolicking, marrying & multiplying, children & grandchildren and paces now in senility. With age and ailments, failing health and fragility and a crumbling memory. A steadfastness still remains of a love story; craving to be tied to timeless togetherness.
The Journey to a Beating Heart
The first day I heard your song, with a beat better than mine, I couldn't help but think that I was out of line. I must have turned the wrong corner, because I was waiting for a lifeless alleyway. Instead I got a barrage of color, music, and pure life. I was long past second chances, with my own music fading to the end of its song, but here I now was hearing my song anew. Your smile quickened the melody, my heart started to beat again, us together create a symphony so grand it could put Beethoven to shame.
Saudi Arab + American Redhead
She loves him like the ocean love’s the shore.
She is the love story that he never wants to end.
He is the love of her soul.
Her heart melts when ever she hears his name.
He turns into a nervous teenager again when they video talk.
P.S. Please pray for them that everything works out. Long distance is tuff. I really do love him.
Thirty-two years married, and they were two static characters deep in love. One with alcohol and one with the other, they each had their fix that kept their connection complete. Her smile was cherished, and laugh, adored; anything she did was beautiful to him. She sincerely loved him when he brought her the bottle, and that was it. Because she was his drug of choice, he did as she asked, and received what he lived for, her sweet, sweet smile.
His footsteps crunched on the gravel as he discovered me. Sitting on the hot rail, knees to chest, head on knees, and tears streaming freely. He sat next to me, knees to chest, head on knees, and began to cry, so I asked him why. "Because you gave me permission," his reply. I have loved him every moment, of every day, since.
Tossing and turning; she couldn't sleep. Even after all this time, the Sandman still evaded her, though she desired him more than anything. But maybe it's not the Sandman she's thinking about. Maybe it's just a man, with sandy hair and golden eyes and sunkissed skin. Maybe it's not the Sandman she wants; maybe it's just a man.