Classic Love & Romance Stories
[ Love & Romance ] [ Contents ]
Sometimes we close our eyes and just listen to the echoes of our hearts. We
all fall in love and there are times when we love so much that we lose
ourselves in our emotions. More often than not, we wonder why there are love
that grows, and love that grows cold. We would start to search for answers
and try to find where love has gone wrong. But in the end, we find ourselves
where we started for we cannot question love when it has its own reasons.
Love will always be as it always has been....silent, mysterious and deeply
profound.
Many of us believe that love is forever, that love never dies, only to be
disillusioned in the end when we find our hands empty and our hearts
longing. We mistakenly have looked at love as a need to be fulfilled. But
love is a gift given to us. We should not hold it in our hands for we may
never find the strength to let it go when it decides to leave. We should
only embrace its warmth and glow while it last and then freely open our arms
when its time to say good-bye.
When we fall in love, we don't want that feeling to end for it is everything
we are, everything we wanted to be. We pray that love will stay and grow in
our hearts. But if it doesn't then we should never let our lives be taken by
it, for life should not end where heartaches begin.
There is always a reason why we have to move on. When we have to say
good-bye to the feeling we wanted to stay forever, let us not wave our hands
with a heavy heart. For love will have to set its wings free and find the
place where it belongs. We may have lost it but then again, when we close
our eyes and listen to the echoes of our hearts, we will hear that feeling
resounding silently forever.
Then we'll know that love never left us, for the good that we have become
because of love will always stay. Love will always be there, reminding us
that we should be thankful and happy not because we have lost love, but
because, for once in our lives, that feeling called love lived in our hearts
and made us happy.
Author Unknown
[ Love & Romance ] [ Contents ]
My grandparents were married for over half a century, and played their own special game from the time they had met each other. The goal of their game was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house, and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more. They dragged "shmily" with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my grandma always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring. "Shmily" was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear bath after bath. At one point, my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave "shmily" on the very last sheet. There was no end to the places "shmily" would pop up. Little notes with "shmily" scribbled hurriedly were found on dashboards and car seats, or taped to steering wheels. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows. "Shmily" was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents' house as the furniture. It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparents' game.
Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love -- one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my grandparents' relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship as based on a devotion and passionate affection which not everyone is lucky enough to experience. Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could. They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other's sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle and word jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was, how handsome and old he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew "how to pick 'em." Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other.
But there was a dark cloud in my grandparents' life: my grandmother had breast cancer. The disease had first appeared ten years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that way so that she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside. Now the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my grandfather's steady hand, they went to church every morning. But my grandmother grew steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave the house anymore. For a while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone. "Shmily." It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother's funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time. Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother's casket and, taking a shaky breath, he began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby. Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. For I knew that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.
S-H-M-I-L-Y: See How Much I Love You.
Author Unknown
[ Love & Romance ] [ Contents ]
I have a friend who is
falling in love. She honestly claims the sky is bluer. Mozart moves her to
tears. She has lost 15 pounds and looks like a cover girl.
"I'm young again!" she shouts exuberantly.
As my friend raves on about her new love, I've taken a good look at my old one.
My husband of almost 20 years, Scott, has gained 15 pounds. Once a marathon
runner, he now runs only down hospital halls. His hairline is receding and his
body shows the signs of long working hours and too many candy bars. Yet he can
still give me a certain look across a restaurant table and I want to ask for the
check and head home.
When my friend asked me "What will make this love last?" I ran through
all the obvious reasons: commitment, shared interests, unselfishness, physical
attraction, communication. Yet there's more. We still have fun. Spontaneous good
times. Yesterday, after slipping the rubber band off the rolled up newspaper,
Scott flipped it playfully at me: this led to an all-out war. Last Saturday at
the grocery, we split the list and raced each other to see who could make it to
the checkout first. Even washing dishes can be a blast. We enjoy simply being
together.
And there are surprises. One time I came home to find a note on the front door
that led me to another note, then another, until I reached the walk-in closet. I
opened the door to find Scott holding a "pot of gold " (my cooking
kettle) and the "treasure" of a gift package. Sometimes I leave him
notes on the mirror and little presents under his pillow.
There is understanding. I understand why he must play basketball with the guys.
And he understands why, once a year, I must get away from the house, the kids -
and even him-to meet my sisters for a few days of nonstop talking and laughing.
There is sharing. Not only do we share household worries and parental burdens -
we also share ideas. Scott came home from a convention last month and presented
me with a thick historical novel. Though he prefers thrillers and science
fiction, he had read the novel on the plane. He touched my heart when he
explained it was because he wanted to be able to exchange ideas about the book
after I'd read it.
There is forgiveness. When I'm embarrassingly loud and crazy at parties, Scott
forgives me. When he confessed losing some of our savings in the stock market, I
gave him a hug and said, "It's okay. It's only money."
There is sensitivity. Last week he walked through the door with that look that
tells me it's been a tough day. After he spent some time with the kids, I asked
him what happened. He told me about a 60-year-old woman who'd had a stroke. He
wept as he recalled the woman's husband standing beside her bed, caressing her
hand. How was he going to tell this husband of 40 years that his wife would
probably never recover? I shed a few tears myself. Because of the medical
crisis. Because there were still people who have been married 40 years. Because
my husband is still moved and concerned after years of hospital rooms and dying
patients.
There is faith. Last Tuesday a friend came over and confessed her fear that her
husband is losing his courageous battle with cancer. On Wednesday I went to
lunch with a friend who is struggling to reshape her life after divorce. On
Thursday a neighbor called to talk about the frightening effects of Alzheimer's
disease on her father-in-law's personality. On Friday a childhood friend called
long-distance to tell me her father had died. I hung up the phone and thought,
This is too much heartache for one week. Through my tears, as I went out to run
some errands, I noticed the boisterous orange blossoms of the gladiolus outside
my window. I heard the delighted laughter of my son and his friend as they
played. I caught sight of a wedding party emerging from a neighbor's house. The
bride, dressed in satin and lace, tossed her bouquet to her cheering friends.
That night, I told my husband about these events. We helped each other
acknowledge the cycles of life and that the joys counter the sorrows. It was
enough to keep us going.
Finally, there is knowing. I know Scott will throw his laundry just shy of the
hamper every night; he'll be late to most appointments and eat the last
chocolate in the box. He knows that I sleep with a pillow over my head; I'll
lock us out of the house at a regular basis, and I will also eat the last
chocolate.
I guess our love lasts because it is comfortable. No, the sky is not bluer: it's
just a familiar hue. We don't feel particularly young: we've experienced too
much that has contributed to our growth and wisdom, taking its toll on our
bodies, and created our memories.
I hope we've got what it takes to make our love last. As a bride, I had Scott's
wedding band engraved with Robert Browning's line "Grow old along with
me!" We're following those instructions.
"If anything is real, the heart will make it plain."
By Annette Paxman Bowen
[ Love & Romance ] [ Contents ]
While waiting to pick
up a friend at the airport in Portland, Oregon, I had one of those life changing
experiences that you hear other people talk about, the kind that sneaks up on
you unexpectedly.
This one occurred a mere two feet away from me. Straining to locate my friend
among the passengers deplaning through the jet way, I noticed a man coming
toward me carrying two light bags. He stopped right next to me to greet his
family.
First he motioned to his youngest son (maybe six years old) as he laid down his
bags. They gave each other a long, loving hug. As they separated enough to look
in each other's face, I heard the father say, "It's so good to see you,
son. I missed you so much!" His son smiled somewhat shyly, averted his eyes
and replied softly, "Me, too, Dad!"
Then the man stood up, gazed in the eyes of his oldest son (maybe nine or ten)
and while cupping his son's face in his hands said, "You're already quite
the young man. I love you very much, Zach!" They too hugged a most loving,
tender hug.
While this was happening, a baby girl (perhaps one or one-and-a-half) was
squirming excitedly in her mother's arms, never once taking her little eyes off
the wonderful sight of her returning father. The man said, "Hi, baby
girl!" as he gently took the child from her mother. He quickly kissed her
face all over and then held her close to his chest while rocking her from side
to side. The little girl instantly relaxed and simply laid her head on his
shoulder, motionless in pure contentment.
After several moments, he handed his daughter to his oldest son and declared,
"I've saved the best for last," and proceeded to give his wife the
longest, most passionate kiss I ever remember seeing. He gazed into her eyes for
several seconds and then silently mouthed, "I love you so much!" They
stared at each other's eyes, beaming big smiles at one another, while holding
both hands. For an instant they reminded me of newlyweds, but I knew by the age
of their kids that they couldn't possibly be.
I puzzled about it for a moment then realized how totally engrossed I was in the
wonderful display of unconditional love not more than an arm's length away from
me. I suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if I was invading something sacred, but
was amazed to hear my own voice nervously ask, "Wow! How long have you two
been married?"
"Been together fourteen years total, married twelve of those," he
replied, without breaking his gaze from his lovely wife's face.
"Well, then, how long have you been away?" I asked.
The man finally turned and looked at me, still beaming his joyous smile.
"Two whole days!"
Two days? I was stunned. By the intensity of the greeting, I had assumed he'd
been gone for at least several weeks, if not months. I know my expression
betrayed me, I said almost offhandedly, hoping to end my intrusion with some
semblance of grace (and to get back to searching for my friend), "I hope my
marriage is still that passionate after twelve years!"
The man suddenly stopped smiling. He looked me straight in the eye, and with
forcefulness that burned right into my soul, he told me something that left me a
different person. He told me, "Don't hope, friend ... decide!"
Then he flashed me his wonderful smile again, shook my hand and said, "God
bless!" With that, he and his family turned and strode away together. I was
still watching that exceptional man and his special family walk just out of
sight when my friend came up to me and asked, "What'cha looking at?"
Without hesitating, and with a curious sense of certainty, I replied, "My
future!"
By Michael D. Hargrove