Plăcerea fizică nu este decât o plăcere;poate ceva mai mare decât celelalte,dar, oricum,o plăcere ca oricare alta.Nu reprezintă decât un aspect-şi nu cel mai important-al relaţiei pe care o numim iubire.Lucrul esenţial este adevărul, încrederea care se stabileşte între doi oameni,două suflete. Că adevărata infidelitate este cea care ascunde infidelitatea fizică. Pentru că lucrul care nu trebuie să existe niciodată între doi oameni, care şi-au oferit unul altuia dragostea, este minciuna. Fowles

You taunted me with whispered confessions and broken promises, leaving me to stay up at night listening to your songs.
love, that's what you called me, so many times when I put my heart in to you. But that too you broke; along with your promises, along with my perception of what love really is. Does it exist? Is that what you showed me? If it was, then you broke me, stripping me bare, leaving me to stand naked in front of fractured mirrors at midnight trying to find answers in skin and hope in curves. And faith in myself because I learned to never put it in someone else. You didn't leave me whole but with a hole, a gaping wound for sparrows to fly through and for spiders to web in. I'll fill it though, fill this space in my chest with dreams for myself and love for my soul.

You have a beautiful, expressive soul. The use of diction that wastes not a word. Strung together from your thoughts, knitting them into words. A plush fabric that warms hearts and brings smiles to many. Your pieces are a true work of beauty from a truly beautiful mind. An imagination that beckons inspiration. You are my inspiration and aspiration to write.

Plus, you're hot.

Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everybody I’ve ever known.
“— Chuck Palahniuk

It’s sad when people you know become people you knew.

When you can walk right past someone like they were never a big part of your life. How you used to be able to talk for hours. And how, now, you can barely even look at them.

Sometimes all you can do is not think. Not wonder. Not obsess. Not imagine. Just breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Everything works out in the end, and the more time you spend worrying about it, the longer it takes for things to end perfectly. Just the way they should.

That is the problem with dealing with someone who is actually a good listener. They don’t jump in on your sentences, saving you from actually finishing them, or talk over you, allowing what you do manage to get out to be lost or altered in transit. Instead, they wait, so you have to keep going.