Love is a longing for becoming one with another human being that nobody of us can avoid.
The love we say we feel for another is, in most cases, just a selfish hunt for our own happiness.
Is it possible to silence the mind of a lover without losing it? Getting desires fulfilled might satisfy it, taking away its peace.
May the cracks in my heart be the place where I shall plant my tears which would rise in blossoms. If they hit me with stones, I’m going to throw at them flowers. As a sign of celebration. The victory of reason over ego. I’ve risen above it all, on the ashes of my old soul that, as Phoenix, found its way to light up the Universe.
Not every marital union is going to be a meaningful and fulfilling experience. Most of marriages today are nothing more than poorly or well managed coexistence.
Exposure to erotically inclined stimuli immediately activates parts of a male brain that are associated with sexual desire. Being attracted to other women, however, doesn’t mean men would betray the trust they are given and harm the partnership with the women they love.
Behind every 'I love you', there is an invisible 'until'.
Relationships that are merely based on practicality or utility will ultimately make us feel lonely.
The greatest power of love is in its capability to revive, regenerate and expand after we have experienced and overcome difficulties in our relationships.
We always say we choose our partners following our free will, when in fact, it is our cultures, traditions and religions that instilled different set of values ( and desirable virtues ) and as such directly affected what we consider acceptable in our relationships.
The common ways of 'dealing with problems' are escapism and indulgence. Rare of us realize that inside issues can never be fixed on the outside.
I’m wrapped in you. Melting in your silhouette and becoming one, a strange contour of love, flowing with the wind.
To retreat in my aloneness, my beautifully peaceful garden, to find shade under my heart, in the solitude of abundance, without you in sight.
Loving someone deeply makes us blind to the signs of emotional neglect.
I covet him. His hot body over mine, sweaty and smelling like grass after the rain. I want to live that moment of Eros again and again and again. Never having enough of him, the masculine image of me, a piece of art, unique masterpiece of God, that is calmly sleeping beside me.
Love gives value to the one who loves and not to the loved one.
The new story of ardour unfolding, the tale of tantrums of the hearts. An affair with a stranger who still can’t feel it, while silently roaming its streets.
His eyes mimic mine. Sublime beauty marks of a man’s face. Staring and penetrating. Gentle and loving. Salacious. Immaculate. Feeding my hope and starving my anguish.
What is love but a word? A feeling roughly concordant to fear? A fantasy that breaks through the heartbreak and endows the defeated with bravery?
I wonder if Gaudi was collecting pieces of broken tiles, trying to mend his shattered heart, his crushed soul, his splintered being, his overwhelming sorrow for the unrequited love.