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Gift Gugu Mona

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“When Robert drew a human face he felt as if he'd pinned a butterfly for study. As if he'd taken something that flickered with life and beauty and killed it. He would not do that to her. And so instead he decided to draw something else to remind him, secretly, of her. Something that recalled the lustrous spread of her fins, the quivering spines. Something that was beautiful and vicious all at once. A lionfish.”

“In advisory Mister Pope decided to explain the significance of Valentine’s Day with the story of wayward bird. Rarely did Mister Pope spend any real amount of time in front of the advisory class, but that week, a few days before the Valentine’s Day dance he told a slightly familiar Valentine’s Day story. “Okay, imagine you are a bird. You love being a bird. I mean, it’s a pretty good life. You wake. You hunt for food. You sleep. You wake up. You eat some more. That’s your life until you become old enough to start having urges.” Pope paused. The boys elbowed each other. The girls shook their heads. “Hold on, here’s my Valentine’s Day problem. Imagine you are this bird, with urges, and you find yourself the only species of your kind suddenly somewhere else. Things are familiar because there are cliffs and fish and food and other birds, but no one that looks like you. You may have been thinking you were imagining things and then you realize something is wrong.” Mister Pope clicked a button and, on the screen, flashed a bird flying along the cliffside. It immediately looked like a seagull, but at the[…]” Excerpt From JUST ONE MO Mark T. Sneed This material may be protected by copyright.”

“You meet people, you form these bonds that tighten around you, and some of the people you love die. All of them go away, one way or another. You don't carry them around with you over there, you can't. There isn't time, and the memories are too heavy. You'll always have the piece of them that was yours and your time together. And you can pray for him. One way or another, Frank, he's gone for you, and you know that. As you said, he was never your guy, no matter how much you loved him.”

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“Love is the spice of life!" Aunt Lydia picked up her glass and took a long drink before setting it down again. "Did it end in heartache, dear?" "Well, yes...but it was the good kind of heart ache, Aunt Lydia. The kind where you'll always think fondly of each other, even though you know your love could never be." My aunt squealed with delight. "Ooh, I just love stories that end that way! Those happy, sappy endings in romance novels aren't realistic at all. But if you can gaze up at the stars at night and think fondly of your lost love, then it's worth falling in love and losing him." "You're absolutely right.”

“O amor perdido não deixa de ser amor. Apenas assume uma forma diferente. Não conseguimos ver o sorriso da pessoa amada, ou levar-lhe comida, ou mexer-lhe nos cabelos, ou rodopiar com ela numa pista de dança. Mas quando esses sentimentos enfraquecem, há outro que se sublime. A memória. A memória torna-se nossa companheira. Alimenta-nos. A vida tem um fim. Mas o Amor não.”