Imperfect Love 소설 & 이야기

Infelicitous love story. ***************

With each word of affection and devotion, Emiliano could feel the weight of his betrayal pressing down on him. Yet, he repeated the mantra in his head: this is for a life. Rhea’s safety and well-being were paramount. “If I haven’t proven to you how much I care, then I don’t know what will,” Emiliano said, desperation creeping into his voice. “But I’m not giving up. I will do whatever it takes to show you that I love you.” Rhea studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she nodded. “Okay,” she said, a hint of vulnerability in her voice. “I’ll give you another chance.”

He almost wished she could block him instead of ignoring him this way. The house felt strange without her because her presence was everywhere. He could see her fine touches in the soft furnishings and in the pleasant arrangement in the kitchen. The bedroom was the most unbearable for him. Tokodi got into bed and began to toss and turn. He could smell Tracy’s shampoo and bath gel in the sheets and he could almost touch her. He was surprised that he could clearly remember every detail about the first time they made love but not the last time, which was just a few days ago. He finally sat up and called her again. She did not answer her calls or respond to his heartfelt voice note apologies or t

Maybe, if things progressed. This was another family I could never be a part of; another window I would never be able to breach. There was no hope of a future here; I'd always be second best. It hadn't even gotten that far. I was attracted to Jeanie but we weren't a couple; we had no past ... and maybe no future. Still, the potential was there. Jeanie had said she'd loved me; she'd fought with her sister because she had fallen for me. Love wasn't enough; love could never be enough. No, it's not enough. But it is an essential ingredient.

She had sat right where Beverly left her — right where she was still sitting — and had come to the realization that Lord Tennyson knew just what he was saying in his poem. The world was imperfect, filled with imperfect people — herself included. And sometimes these imperfect people hurt one another. But that was okay. No, it was okay only if these imperfect people could in love make allowances for one another to be imperfect, tempering judgment with mercy. And like Beverly said, love was not weak. True love was never weak. What her mother had with her father was not love, she realized that now. Love was not self-seeking. Love never rejoiced in evil. Love was strong. Strong enough to change a

Definitely, I had the feeling I loved her or perhaps I thought I loved her but right to this past few days when I had almost lost her, when I had almost watched her soul slip away from my grasp into the dying wind did I realize I was consumed from everything that has to do with her. She was imperfect in her way , but still I was never a man in search of perfection. My fear was this woman knowing how much I loved her, wondering if she won't take it for granted. She looked like one that wouldn't do that— To start with she was the mother of my child and with the way things had gone it did look like another one could be in the way. That by anyway doesn't justify love, yet at the same time it did

“All I've ever wanted was for you to accept me and respect me. I did not ask for your money. I did not need your wealth. What I wanted was your love and your acceptance. Because I am your son. You are my parents; you are my mother. And as my mother, you should have been the very first to respect me and to accept me. You should have been the one to protect me from anyone and anything that hurts me. You should have been the one to love me unconditionally. But no. You didn't do any of that. Instead, you did the complete opposite. I just wanted you to love me.” “How can I love someone that is as imperfect as you? How can we love you when you could be the main cause of our downfall? How can we lo

"Then what is it?" Derek's eyes went wide. Probably because no one had ever used him as a stand-in before—he seemed desperate to get to the bottom of it. "He's dead," I said quietly. … Sam Carter was my first love. He was my childhood sweetheart. The one I'd loved, and who'd loved me back. They say you should never meet someone too extraordinary when you're young. I think Sam was the most extraordinary person I'd ever meet—or ever will.

Adrian poured us each a glass of wine, handing one to me as the first stars began to appear in the sky. "You know," he said softly, "I used to think love was about perfection. About finding someone who fit into my life without any complications." I glanced at him, my expression thoughtful. "And now?" "Now I know it’s about imperfection. About finding someone who sees your flaws and loves you anyway. Who makes you want to be better, not just for them, but for yourself." He looked at me, his eyes earnest. "That’s what you’ve done for me, Adrian."