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The rhythm of the heart...beats twice. Thump, thump. Once, first for itself and then once again for the rest of the body. It's a true metaphor for us. Like the heart we must pump life giving love and care for ourselves first, before extending that gift out to others. The heartbeat of every worthwhile relationship begins with a healthy, humble understanding and appreciation of our own personal self worth. When we do this the power to truly love and appreciate others pulsates fluidly and freely into all those we warmly choose to share our lives with.
Jason Versey A Walk with Prudence
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The rhythm of the heart...beats twice. Thump, thump. Once, first for itself and then once again for the rest of the body. It's a true metaphor for us. Like the heart we must pump life giving love and care for ourselves first, before extending that gift out to others. The heartbeat of every worthwhile relationship begins with a healthy, humble understanding and appreciation of our own personal self worth. When we do this the power to truly love and appreciate others pulsates fluidly and freely into all those we warmly choose to share our lives with.

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Missing HomeSometimes when we may experience a feeling of nostalgia, and a longing for our Home, it does not really mean that our Home is somewhere out there in the stars. It means that we start remembering our own divine Self. We miss, it and we want to be reconnected to what is truly ours. We always can, at any moment, turn to our hearts. When we raise the feeling of gratitude and appreciation for who we are, we know we are at Home.

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You know what I love? The spaces between I love you. The tap of your fork against the plate and how my cup of wine clicks against our table. The scratchy voice coming from the radio in the other room. The quiet sound of your hand reaching across the table and whispering over mine. How your voice sounds like your mouth on the back of my neck. The soft murmur of our easy conversation.Between these quiet Tuesday night routines, following every comma and right after every pause for breath, is I, love, and you. In the middle of every I love you is a sink full of dishes, whisper of socked feet tangled in white sheets, and gentle kisses against curved cheeks. We lyric ourselves into the laundry that needs to be finished, into the ends of every smile that follows me repeating your name. We write ourselves into the grocery bags we need to carry, the cracks running up our rented walls, the sides of the bed we choose to drag up the sails of heavy eyed dreams.Like the spaces between our fingers, in the spaces between I, love, and you, we wait.The in-betweens have always been my favorite.

MK
Marlen Komar

Ugly People Beautiful Hearts