The
Loveshack!
07-28-01
"Reality"
"Love is like a beautiful rose.
Without food, water, and nurturing,
both, will eventually die.
Sadly, love dies much more slowly
than the rose,
causing far more pain than thorns could ever
inflict."
Contributed by Timmy
Contributed by PenguinSLC
"What is REAL?" the Rabbit asked the Skin Horse one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"REAL isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY love you, then you become REAL"
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are REAL you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are REAL, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are REAL you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
"I suppose you are REAL?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.
"The boy's Uncle made me REAL," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are REAL you can't become unreal again. It last for always."
The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called REAL happened to him. He longed to become REAL, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.
Contributed by Annalet J.
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"Once in a while you meet someone, and soon you both discover the two of you are truly something special to each other. . .You share your thoughts and feelings so relaxed, so openly, and right away you know your friendship's truly meant to be."
It's not about how many friends you have or how accepted you are. And not about if you have plans this weekend or if you're alone. It isn't about who you're dating, who you used to date, how many people you've dated, or if you haven't been with anyone at all.
It isn't about who you have kissed. It's not about sex. It isn't about who your family is or how much money they have. Or what kind of car you drive. Or where you were sent to school. It's not about how beautiful or ugly you are. Or what clothes you wear, what shoes you have on, or what kind of music you listen to.
It's not about if your hair is blonde, red, black, or brown or if your skin is too light or too dark. Not about what grades you got, how smart you are, how smart everybody else thinks you are, or how smart standardized tests say you are. It's not about what clubs you're in or how good you are at "your" sport.
It's not about representing your whole being on a piece of paper and seeing who will "accept the written you." But, life is about who you love and who you hurt. It's about who you make happy or unhappy purposefully.
It's about keeping or betraying trust.
It's about friendship, used as a sanctity or a weapon. It's about what you say and mean,
maybe hurtful, maybe heartening. About starting rumors and contributing to petty gossip.
It's about what judgments you pass and why. And who your judgments are spread to. It's
about who you've ignored with full control and intention.
It's about jealousy, fear, ignorance, and revenge. It's about carrying inner hate and
love, letting it grow, and spreading it. But most of all, it's about using your life to
touch or poison other people's hearts in such a way that could have never occurred alone.
Only you choose the way those hearts are affected, and those choices are what life's all
about.
Contributed by B5Slvanova
Happiness, can't be defined...
Its a certain mood,
A state of mind,
Its sharing everday affairs,
With one,
Who understands and cares.
Its a tender look,
Or a gentle touch,
That says,
I love you very much.
Its a smile of comfort,
When your blue,
A hope that's shared,
A dream for two...
And happiness
Is more than this,
It's a warm embrace,
And a gentle kiss.
Its a special blessing,
From above
Its what you have,
When your in love!
Written and contributed by Deb1049
Unseen Lover
Man in My Dreams, Unseen Lover at Night,
Your Touch I Long For, Forbidden Yet Right
Passion and Love, Unchecked Desire,
Searing my Soul, An all Consuming Fire
Laughter Ever Present, Tender Words Shared,
Innermost Thoughts, Expressed and Bared.
Unspoken Wishes, Hopes and Dreams New.
Fantasies Reachable, Only With You,
A Relationship Real in so Many Ways
Yet My Eyes on You, Have Never Gazed,
At Night in My Sleep, You will Always Live
There in My Dreams Love, Yourself You Will Give.
Written & contributed by Lynn Forshee
Contributed by Annalet J
Once upon a time, there was an island where all the feelings lived: Happiness, Sadness, Knowledge, and all of the others including Love.
One day it was announced to the feelings that the island would sink, so all repaired their boats and left. Love was the only one who stayed. Love wanted to persevere until the last possible moment. When the island was almost sinking, Love decided to ask for help. Richness was passing by Love in a grand boat.
Love said, "Richness, can you take me with you?" Richness answered, "No, I can't. There is a lot of gold and silver in my boat. There is no place here for you."
Love decided to ask Vanity who was also passing by in a beautiful vessel, "Vanity, please help me!" "I can't help you Love. You are all wet and might damage my boat," Vanity answered.
Sadness was close by so Love asked for help, "Sadness, let me go with you.""Oh...Love, I am so sad that I need to be by myself!"
Happiness passed by Love too, but she was so happy that she did not even hear when Love called her!
Suddenly, there was a voice, "Come Love, I will take you." It was an elder. Love felt so blessed and overjoyed that Love even forgot to ask the elder her name.
When they arrived at dry land, the elder went her own way. Love, realizing how much Love owed the elder, asked Knowledge, another elder, " Who helped me?"
"It was Time," Knowledge answered.
"Time?" asked Love. "But why did Time help me?"
Knowledge smiled with great Wisdom and answered, "Because only Time is capable of understanding how great Love is."
Contributed by Asooka
Contributed by Kiteskys
By MARY RITA SCHILKE KORZAN
When you thought I wasn't looking you hung my first painting on the
refrigerator, and I wanted to paint another.
When you thought I wasn't looking you fed a stray cat, and I thought
it was good to be kind to animals.
When you thought I wasn't looking you baked a birthday cake just for
me, and I knew that little things were special things.
When you thought I wasn't looking you said a prayer, and I believed
there was a God that I could always talk to.
When you thought I wasn't looking you kissed me good-night, and I
felt loved.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw tears come from your eyes,
and I learned that sometimes things hurt--but that it's all right to
cry.
When you thought I wasn't looking you smiled, and it made me want to
look that pretty, too.
When you thought I wasn't looking you cared, and I wanted to be
everything I could be.
When you thought I wasn't looking--I looked . . . and wanted to say
thanks for all those things you did when you thought I wasn't
looking.
Contributed by Pam Schlinder
Love is:
Love is the ecstasy, laughter, and pain.
Love is the sunshine, the snow, and the rain.
Love is the looking beyond the outside.
Love is the finding what I always hide.
Love is the moon in the darkest night's sky.
Love is the orb that shines in my eye.
Love is the moment when everything fits.
Love is the feeling that tears me to bits.
Love is the arrow that pierces the heart.
Love is the paint that turns into art.
Love is the stomach that fills with butterflies.
Love is the tear that rolls from my eye.
Love is the honesty, trust, and faith.
Love is the communication that will never break.
Love is the way that I live.
Love is the meaning of the word give.
Love is the moving beyond all my walls.
Love is the knowing I don't care if I fall.
Love is the person that stands by my side.
Love is the leap that won't be denied.
By Liz Boldt
Contributed by Kim from Oregon
"What greater thing is
there for two human souls
than to feel that they are joined together to
strengthen each other in all labour, to minister
to each other in all sorrow, to share with each
other in all gladness, to be one with each other
in the silent unspoken memories?"
--George Elliot
A Valentine's Day
Story
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform,
and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central
Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he
didn't, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen
months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he
found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the
notes penciled in the margin.
The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In
the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss
Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She lived
in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and
inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for
service in World War II.
During the next year and one-month the two grew to know each other
through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A
Romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if
he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked
like.
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled
their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York.
"You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my
lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart
he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.
I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened: A young woman was coming
toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls
from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and
chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like
springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to
notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small,
provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she
murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then
I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the
girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn
hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into
low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away.
I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow
her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit
had truly companioned me and upheld my own.
And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her
gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My
fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to
identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something
precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for
which I had been and must ever be grateful.
I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman,
even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my
disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss
Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"
The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what
this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit
who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she
said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that
she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She
said it was some kind of test!"
It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The
true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive. "Tell me whom you
love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are."
Contributed by Lisa Wood
