St. Dominic Quotes

I don’t remember his face or the place we ate. I only remember how he grabbed my hand and his voice when he spoke of his dad.

He said he was going to fix everything and I believed him. But I believed him before and again some. And I guess I got lost in the resentment of disbelief.

You don’t get over it. You move past it. You move through it. You lose yourself to find it, and when found, it’s yours and no longer theirs.

Loving you was hard, wanting you was harder, but kissing your forehead was insanity.

I’m floating. I’m flowing. I’m loving, but I’m going.

You have to grow. You have to be. You have to love yourself unconditionally.

I see you in every passing moment.

I see more light than dark, but when I encounter dark I seem to get lost in it.

We must make tough decisions to see if it’s worth it in the end.

We grooved together with a rhythm so beautiful that I could feel the moment turned into poetry.

Sadness brings delicacy. Happiness brings subliminal terror.

People are so worried about being accepted that it causes them to lose themselves and in turn, lose moments.

It was perfect, but perfection is terrifying.

All of my bad ideas were always my best.

You can’t just be. You have to become.

I never said I love you because I knew he would understand it differently. I loved him, and I still do, but it was as a chapter. It wasn’t as a fairytale ending.

I fear falling in love and understanding why.

Sometimes relationships aren’t meant to be forever. We stumble upon one another to learn, to love, to appreciate and become who we’re supposed to be.

They’re scared of death, but that’s like being afraid of life.

Some days I wonder if I stopped writing about him, if I’d love him a little less.

Maybe I hold on for too long, but maybe you don’t hold on for long enough?

But could words bethe end of me?

As he stood in the darkness, his eyes glistened and that’s when I knew my light found its traction.

I danced as he twirled in and out of consciousness, and there we were, one in love and the other astray.

I’ve spent awhile trying to figure out where I’m going and the only thing I’ve come to realize is it doesn’t matter where, it’s how I get there.

Someone's therapist knows all about you.

When you look in the mirror, do you look at yourself or for yourself?

I love you, but there will be a dozen more too.

Sure, he might not have been perfect, but if I thought he was, isn’t that all that matters?

It was love. It was lust. It was just between us. The passion, the desire, the fire. The way we held on in so little time and his eyes when he saw me for the first time.

Sometimes love them more than you, but just make sure you love yourself too.

He was good and then really good and then bad and then really bad, but since he was good I got lost in the thought that I could fix it.

But everything is how it should be. How's that for wisdom?

I write in seconds. I don’t stop. I don’t think. I simply write and when it comes, it flows and it makes sense because it’s genuine. I don’t understand thought-out poetry. It doesn’t seem real to me.

It wasn’t worth it, but at the time it was. And that’s all that mattered.

It was our first date and I asked what his favorite movie is. He asked if I’d judge him, but instead of judging him I just loved him.

People love the facade of a perfection relationship because perfection seems alluring. What they don’t realize is perfection is terrifying.

I loved everything to anything to everyone who surrounded him. He was perfect. A delusion with a sweet melancholy taste. He was crazy, but he was my crazy and inside, everything felt right.

I don’t want content. I want slight fear. Anxiety. I want a longing devotion for a twist of absence. The feeling of complete isn’t quite pleasing.

I touched him. From brain to body, in ways I couldn’t quite understand. But he did and for him, that was all that mattered.

I worked with him in a way where there was no need to align. We felt and the feeling was simple but complex. It was the intensity in our grasp and when it was done, it was done.

I realized I loved him after everything went wrong so I wallowed in self-pity and prayed I could wake up.

I smell him in intervals, in varieties, in ways I don’t quite understand.

He wasn’t a good person, but I painted him to be and since I painted it, I believed it.

I love you, but I’m more in love with myself and that’s the problem.

Hallucinations aren’t always out of the ordinary. How do we know we’re not hallucinating if everything seems plausible?

And I went into the new year loving myself a little less, but a little more where it actually mattered.

I was just past forty, that age when you wake up in the morning and feel something thickening inside and only people too old to matter refer to you as a young man anymore. (The Last Days of Il Duce)

There are pockets of time, she thinks, where every sense rings like a bell, where the world brims with fleeting grace.

I knew I’d be troubled, but who knew awhile meant forever?