Poetry About Real Love Novels & Stories

Arthur jerked her back to reality. "What is true love like?" She asked in a low tone. Arthur smiled. "Some will say when you can't stop thinking about someone,when he puts a smile on your face,when he makes your heart beat rapidly,when he drives you crazy,when he makes you feel complete,blah blah blah blah..." Arthur sounded so poetic that it made her laugh. The way she smiled,Arthur could swear he had never seen her like that before. "But for me, love is the sweetest feeling you'll ever experience." He gazed at her deeply.

'I'll never tell you to stop loving. You see, I believe in hopeless love. Oh yes. I believe in it with all my heart, though you may discount the heart of an old lady like me. For real love brings pain. Real love means sacrifices and hurts and all the thousand shocks of life. But it also means beauty, true beauty.' ❤️❤️❤️ Beginning (Part 2) ❤️❤️❤️ Winter cried all through the night.

'Love is like a tree: it grows by itself, roots itself deeply in our being and continues to flourish over a heart in ruin. The inexplicable fact is that the blinder it is, the more tenacious it is. It is never stronger than when it is completely unreasonable. When love has fused and mingled two beings in a sacred and angelic unity, the secret of life has been discovered so far as they are concerned; they are no longer anything more than the two boundaries of the same destiny; they are no longer anything but the two wings of the same spirit. Love, soar.'

Survive? She accepted me. Even when I didn't. Even when I couldn't. And now she was gone. No more soft footsteps behind me. No more flowers in her hair. No more stupid little smiles that wrecked me for days. Because here's the truth no one tells you: Love—real love—doesn't give a damn about power. You can't conquer it. You can't buy it. You can't seduce it into staying when you've wrecked it one too many times.

Even if it means flying away from me. That’s what real love is, isn’t it? Not taking. Not needing. But choosing. And letting them choose, too

Contemplate of mine, Sleepless nights; I crave for reality to be just as pleasant as a tranquil let-up with you in my heart. For the rest of the world, it might be disallowed and forbidden, but true love is divine for the one that lives in its path. You are my sunshine, my destiny, my eternal love, my reality... You are my aspiration, my devotion, my life, my every emotion..... .......................You are my SOUL........................ ____________________________________ The moment of falling in love ____________________________________ It was the first time I felt the divine feelings, How a person can get the feeling of heaven on earth.

LOVE The moment when i realized that you could love someone without involving sex but romance was the day I proved that love wasn't real just a conscious effort towards a being. True! I think I am lost here. Loving can heal. Probably the only medicine that is easy to learn but hard to administer. Memories, moments, photographs, smiles, tears and that is it. No more! You can feel love inside you, just lost somewhere with no home and if you took a look deeper inside your heart, you would feel the void within you stretching far and wide. Love is just a phase of foolishness. A crazy desire driven foolishness. But, it is beautiful. It is a beautiful foolishness that comes along with your smile an

And never told us. Day seven hundred. The entry is short. Painful. Raw. "Kai said he loved me today. For the seven hundredth time. First time for him. Seven hundredth time for me. And I wonder: does love count if only one person remembers it? Is repeated first-love real love? Or just an illusion I'm creating for myself? I don't know. But I choose to believe it's real. Because if it's not, then what am I doing this for? What's the point of two thousand days of suffering if the love isn't real? So it's real. It has to be. Day seven hundred of real love. Even if I'm the only one who remembers days one through six hundred ninety-nine."

A gentle squeeze of my palm. It was like he was checking to make sure I was still real. I am real, I thought, looking at him. I’m not a ghost yet. Even if this world tries to turn me into one. I started to talk, mostly to fill the space, but also because I knew he was listening in a way no one else ever had. "I used to think that being loved meant being told beautiful things," I said, looking at the distant mountains. "I wanted poems and promises. But I think I was wrong. Promises are just words. They can be broken as easily as they’re spoken."

I just want you to hear me, the truth no covered in bullshit. Before you, I thought I knew what love was. I thought it was something loud, something explosive, something that burned so bright it couldn’t possibly last. But you showed me that love is quiet too. Love is in the spaces between words, in the looks you give when you think I’m not paying attention, in the way you always come back, even when everything in you is telling you to run.