lust

The ego lusts for satisfaction. It has a prideful ferocious appetite for its version of "truth". It is the most challenging aspect to conquer; the cause for most spiritual turmoil.

Sometimes I wish I had never saved your neck from decapitation in Faroe. Then I could just descend into lewdness in peace.

People wait around too long for love. I'm happy with all of my lusts!

She says: ...love is really all that matters. He hears: ...really love to do it on the mattress.

She realised with every inch of her being that she wanted Freya; she was in love with Freya. Her mind, with its perfectly rational arguments, had list the battle with her heart. She felt it. It was real. The conflict was torture.

To esteem what makes you holy over what makes you happy - that is the greatest dare.

He said he liked my rhythm. I said I liked his heartbeat, and it was within that moment I knew our corners would never meet.

I felt that thread that had come between us, tugging, tugging at my heart__o hard, it hurt me.

She felt the cold blast from the sterile air conditioning on her bare arms and thighs, as she ambled down the center of the shopping complex's ground floor.The scene was a swirl of candy bright lights--the Victoria's Secret fuchsia signboard, signboards which lured one to purchase "confidence," or "sexual appeal," or whatever it was that was being advertised--the fluorescent lights in each store, contrasting with the shiny, black-tiled walls and eye-catching speckled marble tiles on the ground.One could lick the floor--the tiles were spotless, clean like the fake air she was breathing in, like the atoms and cells in her that were decaying in stale neglect.

The acts of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity, and debauchery. Galatians 5:19

The secret tugs at my sleeve.A child looking for attention.It is not a big secret.But it is not the only one either.__trength in numbers_ they say.For they are many.Many little things that _ together __eigh tonnes.And take up space.And are quite noisy.The way only a lot of whispers can make noise.And they follow me.Little secretsof omission, desire,and denial.Of indulgence, hedonism,and exploration.Of peeves, passion,and deep-seated fear.Little secretsof despairanddisrepairandprohibited thoroughfare.

When you love someone, you end up caring about each and every person they love. When you hate someone, you end up caring about every single person who hates them.

I've written you sixty-seven love poems.Here__ 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 thereso even if the stars have argued with the moonand 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 loveif by lighting these candlesour own flame loses its brightness?I know the good is more than the bad. Much more.I cannot wait to write you sixty-nine.

He loved her. He loved her because nature willed it. Because they were already united and of one body. The bare flesh on every part of her belonged to him. The scent emitting from her skin was his.

The yearn of the faithfulThe call of the wildTwo conflicting worlds collideSteadfast in a world spiraling out of control. One foot to the earthOne head in the clouds

It's weird, marriage. It's like this license that gives a person the legal right to control their spouse / their 'other half.

What's simple is that everything good comes from God, and everything bad comes from man. Where it gets complicated is that everything seemingly good but ultimately bad comes from man, and everything seemingly bad but ultimately good comes from God.

Silent as a flower, her face fell in dismay, aware that the ghost of lust ate and left, sensing that there was a different scent of perfume consuming the room, and that she had numbered and counted the he loves me, he loves me not of each petal, where the lifeless dust had settle.