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Quote by Annie Lord

“Roland Barthes says tears are the truest language of love because they are sent from the body. ‘Words, what are they?’ he asks. ‘One tear will say more than all of them.”

Quote by Annie Lord

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Notes on Heartbreak

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Annie Lord

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“Broken bone heals back stronger, Broken heart heals back braver. Broken mind heals back wiser, Broken life heals back brighter. Scars are not guilt marks, Scars are mark of gallantry. Scars are proof of resilience, Scars are testament to bravery. Scars are proof that you soldiered on, Scars are proof that you never gave in. Products are manufactured without scars, People are shaped by scars and suffering. Suffering is not a failure of life, Suffering is a sign of life. The living shall suffer one way or another, So choose the reason, conscious and wise.”

“Edge of the Sword (Poem) ****** I have long sensed that you're an edge of a sword. In halve you managed to pierce me with taps and words. Today those words have turned into a session of stabbing. You cut me deep with your point, my spine is flapping. Who knew that you'd burn into an anatomy of a dagger? To you both the blade and the pommel are the same in danger. Even the peen block is equally harmful too. And the guard and the grip form an army of tools. So, I fall bleeding from your thrust; Oh! With my body full of bruises and cuts. But only the soil has an interest to lick these wounds For my blood giveth commitment and feeds it life in full. How can a battle of love turn into an unending war? Bow, allow my wailing to cease your cause. Why torture me whereas even fallen leaves nurture my sores And the ground quenches its thirst through my peeled pores? Woe to your love. It touches my trauma with soiled gloves.”

“Parker’s eyebrows dip, but his gaze slides back up to mine. “To love someone that much.” My heart seizes, my eyes stinging with fresh tears. I’m forced to look away as I pull my lips between my teeth, holding back another mournful cry. “Sorry. You should go dance now.” Swallowing, I glance back up at Parker, who has returned his attention to the lake. He teeters on the balls of his feet, his jaw clenching. I’m startled by his words as the chilly water laps at my toes—he’s never apologized for anything before, but he apologizes for this. For his brush with vulnerability, his tender curiosity. That’s nothing to be sorry for. “It felt like completion,” I tell him, explaining it the only way that makes sense. “It felt like a pinnacle. Like everything in your life has come full circle, and this person is the culmination of every dream, every plea, every dandelion wish. “And when your dreams dissolve, and the wishes scatter, it’s hard to find joy in anything else. How can you ever obtain completion again when you’re missing the biggest piece?” A ragged sigh escapes me, and I watch the emotions play across his face, a melancholy reflection pulling at his features. “I have to believe there’s still joy in the journey—this new journey —and that life isn’t all about the finished puzzle. There’s just as much fulfillment in putting it together.”

“والقهوة يجب أن يقدّمها لك شخصٌ ما. القهوةُ كالوَرْد، فالورد يقدّمه لك سِواك، ولا أحدَ يقدّم ورداً لنفسه. وإن أعددتها لنفسك فأنت لحظتها في عزلة حرة بلا عاشق أو عزيز، غريبٌ في مكانك. وإن كان هذا اختياراً فأنت تدفع ثمن حريتك، وإن كان اضطراراً فأنت في حاجةٍ إلى جرس الباب.”