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Soulmate Quotes

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Soulmate Quotes

“Even with Manuela, to whom I would gladly entrust my life, I do not have this feeling of absolute security that comes when one is sure that understanding is mutual. Entrusting one's life is not the same as opening up one's soul, and although I love Manuela like a sister, I cannot share with her the things that constitute the tiny portion of meaning and emotion that my incongruous existence has stolen from the universe.”

“Something happened, nothing happened, something happened, something could not happen, something is going to happen, nothing is going to happen, but what is happening is healing you, even if someday you are not able to heal. Keep calm, go in front of the mirror and see yourself smiling, even if you shed tears, it will be fine, you will be healed in a moment by both these behaviors, this is what I want and those who are with me also want this, be careless. Celebrate it and put your life in that moment, then whenever you look back, that celebration, that laughter, that scene will refresh your today!! Take care of yourself and those who are with you, even if there is distance or closeness, just take care, even if they don't speak, even if they don't express, but your one thought will be enough, everything will be fine, so that's all I had to say. Be happy ♡”

“يا قاتلي ولهاً، أحييتني تيها كلّ الأغاني سدىً، إن لم تكن فيها جراح حبك تذكارٌ على جسدي إن كان لي فيك خيرٌ، لا تداويها ونار حبّك في روحي مقدّسةٌ ما أكثر الدمع لكن ليس يطفيها خذني إليك، وشكّلني... وكن صفتي أحقّ أنت بروحي أن تسمّيها ما نمت إلا لأني قد أراك غداً ما قمتُ إلا لشمسٍ أنت تضويها وما تركتُ صلاةً في هواك جوىً فأنت قِبلةُ قلبي إذ أصليها... ضعي شفتيك قليلاً على جسدي لا يهمّ إذا نبت الورد أو جرحتني السيوفُ... أنا قلق الانتظار، أنا نجمة في المدار أنا كعبةٌ طاف حولي التذكّر والاحتضار، أنا عاشق حول قلبي أطوفُ.. لقد آن أن تنزلي في دمي، آن أن تملئيني اضطرابا.. فكوني معي، جسداً لا سرابا، وكوني معي طعنة لا عذابا، أنا لا أمانع أن تقتليني جنوناً، وأن تجرحيني عتابا... أخاف المسافة لا السيف... أغفر إن تقتليني، ولكن.. سألتك لا تقتليني غيابا...”

“فكّر بها… هي سوف تعرف كلما فكرت بامرأةٍ سواها… فكّر بها… هي تستحق الشمس تسطع في سماها! فكّر بها، من بين كل العاشقات تراك أنت، ومن شقوق المفردات تشمّ رائحة النساء الأخريات… وليس يؤلمها ارتحالك، إنما تبكي عليك اذا نزلت لغيرها عن مستواها…”

“لقد حلّ فينا الشقاء وحلّ الجفاء وحلّ الوباءْ... فيا حبّ يا أجمل الهفوات البريئة يا آخر الصلوات ويا أوّل الأنبياءْ... بردنا كأيّ علاقة حبّ... كأيّ حبيبين حين يجيء الشتاءْ وليس لنا غير دفئك يا حبُّ، حنّ علينا قليلاً بحقّ السماء!”

“نص قصير هن أمي عندما وجدت منديل صلاة وقرآناً على طاولتي، اكتشفت حكايتين سريتين بالصدفة الواحدة... تقول الحكاية أن امرأة مع نهاية كل يوم، كانت تنتظر أن أخلد للنوم، كي تعدّ لي وجبة الدعاء... كانت تعدّها قلقاً قلقا، وصلاةً صلاة، على خرزات مسبحتها الطويلة... تحوّل مكتبي إلى مائدة للملائكة الطيبين، تحقن الدعاء في الهواء مؤونة لبقاء العافية. ما أشقاني!! كنت أشم كل صباح رائحة البخور والعطور وأظن أن جيراننا تذكروا أحبابهم الغائبين... تقول الحكاية أيضاً، أنها تلك الليلة، وقد دخلت الفراش حزيناً ومتعباً، لشدة ما تضرعت أمي لله، تملكها وجع في الحلق وضيق في النفس فقامت متعبة إلى فراشها تاركةً عن غير قصد، منديلها المبلل بالدمع على طاولتي... لقد تركت أيضاً قلبي مكسوراً بين يديها... وطرفي مبلولاً على حبل غسيلها منذ تلك اللحظة، حتى كتابة هذه السطور... كل عام وأمهاتنا قناديلنا”

“If I can’t be your love, then let me be a simple brooch so I may rest a while against your chest. If I can’t be your love, then let me be a forgotten coin so I may rest a while against your thigh. If I can’t be your love, then let me be an unlit cigarette so I may rest a while in between your lips. If I can’t be your love, then let me at least remain in these words so I may rest a while in your thoughts.”

“How is it that there was never you until there was and then all was you?”

“I write because the security of your love allows me to develop my craft without concerning myself with trivialities — as if your love could be any more complete. But I write, in the first place, because of you, my muse. I write for your green eyes to glance at my humble words and for the pleasure of hearing you utter them.”

“I've written you sixty-seven love poems. Here’s another one for you. But really, for me. These poems are the candles that I light with the fire you have ignited in me. I place this candle here and another there so even if the stars have argued with the moon and are sulking away in a corner, you can still find your way to me. Sixty-eight poems now. What does the future hold for us? Joy? Disappointment? Gentle caresses? And subtle neglect? I hope the good is more than the bad. Much more. For what is the point of love if by lighting these candles our own flame loses its brightness? I know the good is more than the bad. Much more. I cannot wait to write you sixty-nine.”

“One of those awfully simple and beautiful days with you that makes me afraid of dying, makes me afraid of not being. When the soft 6 o’clock sun is slowly sinking behind the harbour, and your smile, effortless and tidy, makes time take flight. You save me from death but also from lifeless living. With you, nothing's wasted on me. The music of the breeze, the colours of children’s footsteps, the dancing trees—I drink them all and, what’s more, you drink these with me. One of those insignificant days when we do nothing and achieve nothing, and yet, chasing the ducks and sharing my last stick of gum with you is everything.”

“How strange is it that our beloved finds its way to us in everything? The orange moon, a freckle, the smell of coffee— are all bridges to the one we desire. How does our beloved find us in this way? Or are we the ones instead who find our beloved in everything? Our intense want of them necessitates the nearness of them. And so we seek beauty only to be flooded with the beauty of our beloved. And we write ellipses on the page only to be thrice reminded of the freckle below their lips...”

“Let us remember to always rediscover one another because we are forever changing.”

“All I need to do is place my pen against paper and your love writes for me.”

“Love, they said, burns you and builds you. But with you, there’s no ash. Just light.”

“What is this love that makes me see beauty, and makes every beautiful thing bring you back to me? What is this love that makes me declare 'I love you' even though I uttered it only a moment ago? What is this love that keeps growing even when my chest is sore and it hurts to love you any more? Tell me: How am I to find what this love is when it was the one to find you, me, this verse, and this universe?”

“Like a pair of old slippers, I feel comfort and warmth as I slip into you. No, that is too crude. Like the match to the wick, I ignite when we touch. My counterpart and life's purpose. Yes, as though I've known you my whole life. Every scar, every failure has become an affirmation of what should be: You. Yes, as though I've loved you my whole life.”

“Does God know the number of kisses before we fall in love? Yesterday, I was nobody and I believed myself important. Today, I feel my worth in you. You, with your emerald eyes and ebony hair, even your heartbeat is beautiful. You, who is my greatest joy, all other concerns vanish in your presence. You swallow time and consume space, inspiring all my passion with a single embrace. I love your existence.”

“How is it possible, you ask, for love to be greater than the person who does the loving? That’s because love defies the rules of reason. It is the only exception.”

“We each have our own language. Our own way of thinking, of talking to ourselves, of making sense of the world and putting it in order. A narration style that is ours and ours alone. That's why some of us connect and some of us don't. Because even though we can only live in our own heads, sometimes - every now and then - we meet a person we can talk to without speaking at all: whose story we can read, without even trying.”