Lizanne

“He leaned in, held his breath so as not to make a noise, went close to her, inhaled the scent that emanated from the pores of her forehead; inhaled the air that bounced back from her head. He stopped there, listening intently to the blood flowing, heart beating, pulse pulsating, her hair drifting slowly below her ear resting where the carotid artery was. He closed his eyes as if picturing everything. Like a dexterous doctor discerning the malfunction in a patient or an adroit maestro listening to every note to discern where the one note is missing.
He stacked everything neatly in his head, still the intent hearing continued. Finally, a smile came to his face just as easily as breath came to him. A ecstatic smoke rose in his head, he had heard the murmur of her thoughts, she was in a peaceful world now. She had drifted into slumber, through the doors to the dream worlds, nothing was troubling her now.
He was filled with an air of comfort and triumph, he was there when she needed it. He was happy that nothing bothered her anymore, how he wanted to ostracize the world just a few moments before!? He wanted to drag this drab world out of her dreamy gleaming eyes, petal covered, almond eyes.
She was stumbling in her own world now, as he sat beside her bed.
He kissed her forehead, whisked the world with those thin lips of his; he whisked that pile of rubble.
He leaned to the side and below, not knowing which side; right or left, it didn't matter; whispered in her ear: "I love you". A smile played on her lips as if she heard that. Again he kissed her forehead, had a good look at her closed eyes. His taverns, he thought; where he got drunk, placed so adjacent to each other.
He was happy, that she was happy, she was happy so he was happy. The rest of the world didn't matter; No! No! There was no "Rest" she was his world the whole and entire of it, there was no "Rest of the world".
He got up collected his phone, which played slow Beethoven, turned it off, switched the lamp off, pulled the blanket over her, got up, patted the dog along, made out of her room; into her balcony. He didn't want to go yet, he stood there as many thoughts danced in front of him, slow in the moonlight.”
― Teufel Damon

“Imagine a future where you hold no grudges towards anyone. You’re not angry at past lovers, not bitter about failures, not disappointed in your parents. You forgive, send love and move on. You’re free.”
― Charlotte Eriksson, He loved me some days. I'm sure he did: 99 essays on growth through loss

“When recovering Nice Guys decide they will no longer settle for anything less than good sex, they begin to take responsibility for doing something different. •​They let go of the concept of being a great lover. •​They practice being clear and direct. •​They choose available partners. •​They don't settle for scraps. •​They decide that bad sex is not better than no sex!”
― Robert A. Glover, No More Mr. Nice Guy

“The day you reached your pockets,
giving me broken shells that I cherished
as the most precious jewels,
I hoped that you, perhaps,
will find missing pieces of your broken heart in me.
I was wrong because you are still looking for them in someone else.”
― Tatjana Ostojic, Cacophony of My Soul: When Love Becomes Poetry