Poetry Lover Novels & Stories

He smiled affectionately that how adorable she looked. "Yami, I love you" he smiled and repeated just for her. "Like a man loves a woman?" she asked looking at her innocently. "Like a man loves a woman. Like a poet loves his poetry. Like an artist loves his art. And like Abhimanyu loves his Advaita" He said the last part in his mind but the remaining sentences were enough to make her heart content. She never expected to get back her love, but here she is. And she knew after this there is no turning back, not that she wanted any.

"How can I not? You’re an active person and you love the outdoors and you've been stuck here with me." "I love the outdoors but I love you more. I'm okay."

Evelyn hunter "Evelyn, it has been years, and you are still as beautiful as ever." Jayer complimented her, hugging her. They have known each other since they were young and were known lovers during that time. It so happened she dumped him for Patrick Hunter back then, and he found a beautiful jewel instead. Miriam. She was the best he could have So that's why Miriam hated her.

It looked like a woman going to war. Against her daughter. For her lover. For the life she refused to lose. And as I drove into the night, thunder rumbling overhead, I whispered to myself a vow, a curse, and a confession all in one. > “The things we do for love… they never let us go.”

Every page after that was filled with their so-called "love story." "April 7th, sunny. Ruth and I argued again over work. I'm so tired. It's only when I'm with Reagan that I feel truly at peace. She's like the sun that is bright enough to drive away all my shadows." "August 15th, rainy. Reagan said she liked that limited-edition bag. I secretly bought it for her. Seeing her surprise and joy made everything worth it. Ruth never smiles over little things like that. She's so dull."

"Oh my, young people really are something. They just radiate energy!" My father-in-law, Shawn Black, who had always scowled at me, was now smiling warmly. He glanced at me and said pointedly, "Finally, we've gotten rid of that useless piece of trash who took up space and contributed nothing. After all these years, and not a single child to show for it." Leonard lowered his head shyly, feigning modesty. "Mr. Black, please don't say that. I'm not much younger than Sebastian."

“You believe that?” “I have to. Otherwise, what’s the point of any of it?” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “You’re an idealist.” “And you’re a cynic.” “I’m a realist. There’s a difference.” “Not much of one.” He stepped closer, and she could see the fine lines around his eyes, the shadow of stubble along his jaw. “How old are you, Keira?” “Twenty-six. Why?” “Because at twenty-six, it’s easy to believe in poetry. At thirty-four, after you’ve buried someone you love, after you’ve held your daughter while she cries for a mother she can’t remember… poetry feels like a luxury you can’t afford.”

It was surprising our Alpha and Luna had let her move there, considering she was very much human. Mrs. Juniper absolutely adored poetry, mostly the classics. I’d never forget the endless headaches I suffered trying to decipher what Shakespeare, Robert Frost, and Alfred Tennyson were trying to convey. Why poets had to make such simple lessons so confusing was beyond me. Why did they have to use pretty words to convey truth? ‘This doesn’t seem to be so hard.’ Rayna countered, murmuring the words to the poem in my head. ‘It mentions beasts twice, which has to be the bulls, right?’

he replied, taking a step away from me. “Don't you get it? She was a mess before I started this, imagine what would happen if she finds out it's all a lie,” I shot back. “She may forgive me, but I'll never forgive myself.” He laughed bitterly. “So you want me to pretend to be the mystery guy to save your silly game?” “Liam—” “No, I refuse to be used to satisfy her emotions. Helena didn't like me enough then to stay, why in heaven's name would I waste my time trying to play some mystery lover? I'm not a fool,” he said defiantly, shaking his head.

I’d reach for the small of her back and feel her permit it, a fraction of a flinch mastered, a stillness held on purpose, and the permission was worse than a refusal, because a refusal is honest and permission means she’s decided to endure it. I performed loving her across a gala while she performed being loved, and we were flawless, and I have never felt further from anyone in my life. The cruelty of it is precise, and I say that as a connoisseur of precise cruelties. For months this cover was where we hid the real thing, a couple in love pretending to be a couple in love, the performance and the truth folded so close together you couldn’t slide a knife between them. Now the performance is