A whiff of fresh mint
that tastes like strawberry pie.
Your kisses tempt me.
Once upon a time there was a king and a queen though not of the same kingdom. They were of different lands and ruled over very different subjects, possessing unique talents and single hearts.
This valiant king and beautiful queen one day found themselves treading the same route which happened to meander through both their lands. Upon this chance meeting they detected in one another distinctive, worthy qualities, both intriguing and impressive enough to cause them to want to cross paths again.
Letters were exchanged from his kingdom to hers, delivered in haste. For even the heralds could see what a marvelous thing it might be to join these two great empires. And so, through written exchanges, it was agreed that this king would escort the queen in his grand, red carriage to view the celebrated, annual light festival in her land—an experience enjoyed after sunset.
On the night of the event, they rode along for hours, talking, laughing and smiling frequently at one another. Their hearts beat in rhythm, pattering with pleasure and tenderness, one toward the other. Jolly tunes played over the air, enhancing their bliss. The king shared pictures of his royal family and subjects, portraits that pleased the beautiful queen. And upon this enchanted night, surrounded by twinkling lights, their hearts swelled and the two fell in love.
It was not long before their kingdoms joined; a merger solidified through marriage. It was a union that made them both forever good and rich.
To say that they lived happily ever after would be in error, because their days consisted of continual and unnumbered trials. There were some periods that sparkled and warmed their souls like the festive lights under which this king and queen fell spellbound in love. Other times proved darker, but not without growth and gain. The promise was that through enduring these trials together—remaining a forever united kingdom in laughter, sorrow, hardship, and love—their uniquely beating hearts would eventually, someday, meld as one.
The Valentine is one heart shared by two.
You need tell me nothing; I already know your heart. Through your simplest choices you've given yourself away.
I love you because you loved me first.
Yet you love me, saying I loved you first.
Funny, our love thrives believing the other person started it.
What's the point of changing who you are in order to impress a woman, when your intention is to return to who you were, a person she was never attracted to in the first place?
“When you do fall in love with me, I don’t want it to be because I gave in to your demands, but because your heart gave in to its desire to truly be loved.”
Love is many kind acts accumulated over time that leave us feeling wonderful.
If only you would kiss me.
Press your lips to mine like a searing iron. Wrap me in your arms as if you were a monarch claiming a kingdom. Hold me close until I warm through to the core. Do this, and I promise to melt into you, no longer a cold and frozen figure in your narrowed sight. How devoted I would be if only your lips burned for mine!
If only you would kiss me.
It is a sweet thing to have someone love you, but it is a far sweeter thing when his actions convince your heart, and his words persuade your soul.
The search only ends when you finally find the one who truly gets you.
Life is a love story, with every character yearning for permanent refuge in someone's heart.
To a man, sex is the ultimate expression of love. It is pure pleasure. But to a woman there exists something greater than pleasure―gestures of adoration. A gentle caress on the cheek, an attentive smile, a soft kiss while swept away in a slow dance, the whispered words, 'You're beautiful'―these are the tokens of love that women cherish.
They tell me you're the best and the worst thing to have happened to me, but I do not see how it can be both. For if my death resulted from your presence, an everlasting sleep would have me dreaming happily of us together. I see no bad in that. Therefore, you must be the best thing to have ever happened to me because you make the worst seem wonderful.
Love is an afternoon of fishing when I'd sooner be at the ballet.
Love is eating burnt toast and lumpy graving with a big smile.
Love is hearing the words, 'You're beautiful,' as I fail to squeeze into my fat jeans.
Love is refusing to bring up the past, even if doing so would be a slam dunk to prove your point.
Love is your hand wiping away my tears, trying to erase streaks of mascara.
Love is the warm hug that extinguishes an argument.
Love is a humbly-uttered apology, even if not at fault.
Love is easy to recognize but so hard to define; however, I think it boils down to this...
Love is caring so much about the feelings of someone else, you sacrifice whatever it takes to help him or her feel better.
In other words, love is my heart being sensitive to yours.
To the romantic soul, the rituals of Valentine's Day echo every day of the year.
Though I love you to the core of my being, so thoroughly that every cell comprising me aches to be near you, I must accept that we can never be together. For our existence parallels the sun and the moon—a temptation in constant, beautiful view, yet if the sun were ever to kiss the moon it would devour the heavenly orb whole. Oh, my darling, if only I were the moon! Then I would dare taste your lips and be happy for my last and final joy! But alas, I am the sun, and I will not venture to destroy the one I love.
Copyright 2015 Richelle E. Goodrich