In Sync Love Quotes

So, what now? We’re friends?" Yeah. If friends could be in love, but not together. In sync, but out of touch. Willing to die for each other, but unable to trust.

Sex is a powerful intent to create: the creation of pleasure, creation of love, and ultimately the creation of life. It connects and syncs two beings emotionally, physically, and mentally and is one of the strongest expressions of love that exists in this World.

And that’s how it was. We walked the same way, no more running, no more fear, no more secrets. Just me and her, in sync and together, even though we came from two separate sides of the spectrum. I was her perfect future and she was my perfect love and that was how every good love song should end. So it ends....at least for now.

Love moves in sync with the cadence of forgiveness, sings in tune with the melody of acceptance, and dances in rhythm with the music of companionship.

I mean, I WANT to be in love. That’s something I’ve always wanted to feel. What’s it like, to be in love and have that other person love you, too? Is it another level of friendship? Another level of trust, vulnerability, always telling that person your thoughts and feelings, sharing every little thing with them so that you’re so in sync that it’s like you’re one person? Is it like every time you see them, your heart goes wild, and you can’t think because you’re so effing happy? Is it like whenever they’re away, you feel like you’re missing a piece of yourself? Does knowing someone loves you fill you with confidence, because you know you’re the type of person who deserves love? And what’s it like to break up with someone you love? What’s it like to decide to try again, and let yourself fall in love with someone else? To decide to take that chance you might get hurt, but still want to try? I don’t know. But I want to.

Resonance happens when your mind and heart come into sync.

But i do believe in souls being in sync, souls that mirror each other.

The moon rose above the canopy and a dreamy mist swirled around our knees as we danced, fingers entwined and hearts in sync with the universe; just a prince and his princess, a boy and a girl, learning to love in a beautiful world.

A writer needs a partner who can act as fuel to his artistic mind, yet has the great ability to sober him up and help him be in sync with the non-artistic part of his soul.

Love and lust aren’t always in sync. You can love someone, but not be ready to have sex with them. Or you can meet someone random and end up jumping in all the way. There’s nothing wrong with either. You’ve waited this long, so wait until you’re really feeling it. If he’s The One, he’ll understand.

What’s it like, to be in love and have that other person love you, too? Is it another level of friendship? Another level of trust, vulnerability, always telling that person your thoughts and feelings, sharing every little thing with them so that you’re so in sync that it’s like you’re one person? Is it like every time you see them, your heart goes wild, and you can’t think because you’re so effing happy? Is it like whenever they’re away, you feel like you’re missing a piece of yourself? Does knowing someone loves you fill you with confidence, because you know you’re the type of person who deserves love?

Our souls danced in magic, but reality wore thin. Two lovers who kept getting it wrong - Our timing always out of sync. A telepathy between our hearts, but our human keeps getting it wrong. A new melody but the same old song. Apart, but together - on the road we travel on. We'll never be out of touch our souls are too interwined - but we'll be out of reach , walking paths of a different kind, promised to find eachother first next life.

I am trying to sync my energies with yours.

Like we all sync our watches every year, at the start and at the end of daylight saving time, we also need to sync our relationships once in a while.

...his push for happiness was out of sync with the world's; his ambition was for safety, security, a life of enough food and shelter and money, books and love, the luxury of pursuing the truth by art.

We lie in each other's arms, our hearts slowly returning to a normal rhythm, but this time, I know they're forever synced. This woman has finally fought the monster and tamed it. I'd have it no other way.

…a writer, like most artists, needs a partner who can act as the fuel to his artistic mind and soul, yet has the great ability to sober him up and help him be in sync with the non-artistic part of his soul.

I watch my parents interact—how easily they’re able to go from being playful one moment to having a serious conversation about the latest news cycle the next. Their body language, so in sync with each other, so

Time, in our experience, is linear, but in truth time is also looped. It is like a piece of yarn, in which each section of the strand twists and winds around every other - a complicated and complex knot, in which one part cannot be viewed out of context from the others. Everything touches everything else. Everything affects everything else. Each loop, each bend, each twist interact with each other. It is all connected, and it is all one. But every once in a while, there are experiences that slice all the other moments apart - stark, singular things that mark the difference between Before and After. These moments are singular, separate from the knot. Separate even from the thread. They can't be tugged at or loosened. They cannot be wound into something lovely or intricate or delicate. They do not interact seamlessly with the fabric of a life. .They are of another substance entirely. Unstuck in time, and out of sync with a life's patterns and processes.

The little things we value as mundane or pithy usually turn into the big things in hindsight…an “I love you” called out as the door closes, a walk around the same block with the same friend, Grandma’s chocolate cake every time you visit…the brush of skin on skin as two loves pause to breath in sync. Life isn’t made up of miles, but memories. Cherish them while you’re making them, not just after you can’t make those memories anymore.

Emma,” he said, teary. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I always have. You and I . . . we fit like the gears of a machine, like interlocking pieces that join together effortlessly, turning in tandem, perfectly in sync. “I believe in us, sweetheart. I believe that I am good for you and that I am a better man because of you. And I want to spend the rest of my life by your side. So, Emma Blair, here it is: Will you marry me?”.

Sometimes kindness and love could be just as difficult as violence to witness. Sometimes, when you were on the outside looking in, watching two in-sync people was a scene from a horror film, the kind of thing that you wanted to look away from, forget about, banish the memory of - especially when you were about to go to bed for the day and facing hours upon hours of being alone in the dark. The knowledge that she would never have that special love with anyone was-

Here is what we do as worshipers of a Santa Claus God: We embrace the conviction that God is an infinitely generous source of all good, but conveniently forget that we were created in God’s image to be in some significant sense like God – not like God in God’s divinity, for we are human and not divine, but like God “in true righteous ness and holiness” (Ephesians 4:24), like God in loving enemies (Matthew 5:44). To live well as a human being is to live in sync with who God is and how God acts.

Maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he was mine. Our lives were in sync. Our goals for the future aligned. Wow, that sounds really unsexy.

If we are in sync with nature, we will be in sync with ourselves because although we belong to Heaven, we are made from earth.

think of the reasons you loved the person who’s gone, then try to be those things.

because that's the way the lake air works: It carries the feelings you exhale into someone else's inhalations, it syncs your heartbeats, connects you to everyone else who loves it like you do.

We’ve all seen bad movies where the audio track isn’t quite synced up with the video track. What you hear isn’t aligned with what you see people saying. It’s usually not a big difference, but it can become a big distraction.

She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of love. Romantic love. Soulmate love. Birds soaring and swans paddling. Trees rustling and flowers blooming. The sound of his hand stroking her tear-stained cheek. And the sound of his heartbeat in sync with hers.

Throughout my travels, I thought about what I wanted love to look like for me. Was it possible to be loved without losing myself? Was the absence of a partner I was spiritually and intellectually in sync with the price I had to pay for being uncompromising about needing the space to grow?

This planet is evolving into a higher vibration of love, generosity, compassion, contribution. The more you get into sync with that vibration, the more life will see you as a collaborator in it's evolution and give you the resources you need to make as big of an impact as you are willing to make.

Soul Mates share complementary, compatible life goals and their spiritual natures are often in sync with ours. They also experience an immense level of comfort with each other that cannot be experienced in other relationships, and they complement each other in many ways through their strengths and weaknesses.

Maturing men and women, when tempted to fall prey to anxiety, go to the Lord, humble themselves, and hand their anxieties over, trusting Him to answer however He sovereignly sees fit. In their minds, they constantly dwell on what is true, right, honorable, excellent, just, and lovely—mind and heart in sync, maturing unto the Lord.

So there’s a video deep in the depths of YouTube of the three of us lip-syncing to the Jonas Brothers and pretending to play guitars and drums in Hailey’s bedroom. She decided she was Joe, I was Nick, and Maya was Kevin. I really wanted to be Joe – I secretly loved him the most, but Hailey said she should have him, so I let her. I let her have her way a lot. Still do. That’s part of being Williamson Starr, I guess. “I so have to find that video,” Jess says. “Nooo,” Hailey goes, sliding off the tabletop. “It must never be found.” She sits across from us. “Never. Ne-ver. If I remembered that account’s password, I’d delete it.” “Ooh, what was the account’s name?” Jess asks. “JoBro Lover or something? Wait, no, JoBro Lova. Everybody liked to misspell shit in middle school.

I knew that life couldn’t be like a romance novel, where someone could fall hopelessly in love with her soul mate the moment they met eyes across a crowded room. Preposterous. Or that you could be whisked off into a world of fantasy and excitement by a handsome stranger, instantly connect, and be in perfect sexual sync from the second his mammoth male member teased your delicate flower petals.

It helps when young people know that their family thinks they’re great and loves them, no matter what. It helps to have frequent, positive interactions with family members in order to figure out what’s fun and safe to do with peers, especially when parents aren’t looking. It also helps to pay attention to other people’s social customs and sensory preferences, not just our own. This all takes resolve and work—and the reward of a satisfying social life is worth all the effort.

The modern quest for authenticity has become twisted into a quest to have our will and our emotions in sync. This faux authenticity is just a fancy version of the sixties slogan, “If it feels good, do it.” So the celebration of being “true to yourself” means acting on your feelings. “I’m not in love with my spouse anymore, so I’m going to leave.” This oft-repeated formula, the logic behind many broken covenants, equates love with feeling happy. The result? We are dominated by the tyranny of our ever-changing feelings. We

I loved her in all the complicated ways a flower thrives in a garden. I loved the way she tended to me like I was somethin’ precious and not monstrous. I loved the way she wore blooms in her hair and inked into her skin ’cause she spoke the language of flowers better than the language of men, and she’d always been so in sync with her surroundin’s. I loved the way she turned her face up to me as if seekin’ sunlight, needin’ the warmth of my praise and presence to grow and thrive. It was a heady fuckin’ thing, bein’ someone’s sunshine, their rain, their entire ecosystem.

Lately, with Thomas not working and Kamala trying her hand at puff pastry, there was almost always someone around, someone shuffling below and making it feel like even if they weren’t quite in sync, they were a team of sorts, a little tight unit. Now, with Sanji on her way to the hospital, Amina was alone with the unease of having brought the others into the mix. It wasn’t that she doubted their love or intentions, but the weight of that love would be no small thing. What would they do with everyone else’s worry on top of their own? Thomas did not weather other people’s concern well. He was not going to be happy with her.

have you ever felt the love so close, did you sense the cool wind it blows, when the happiness is all around, and the sync of beats of the heart become a beautiful sound, when you don't fear the heights and the depth, and you feel on cloud nine even on your heart's theft, when the mystery and known become one, and the face of him becomes next to the rising sun, when you hold his hands and cross the bridges, the lakes, the plateaus and the ridges, you feel the world and yourself at the same time, when the silence between you becomes a beautiful mime. when you become the wicked child and he the teacher, and then the love flows without any measure, you feel his protection in the freedom, you enjoy being the queen of his kingdom, you fly in the sky, you run up the stairs, you dive into the sea, you head to towns and cities with glee, head on his shoulders and mind in his dreams, oh, the soul becomes the swan of the love sea and swims, what more you can ask from God in this lifetime, when your love is synonymous to god's hymn?! maybe it is more than what i said, because it has all in it that never fades, love truly and feel its beauty, it is not just the pleasure or pain but a lifetime duty.....

The front door is locked—what’s up with that?” “Logan fixed the lock,” I tell her. Her bright red, heart-shaped mouth smiles. “Good job, Kevin Costner. You should staple the key to Ellie’s forehead, though, or she’ll lose it.” She has names for the other guys too and when her favorite guard, Tommy Sullivan, walks in a few minutes later, Marlow uses his. “Hello, Delicious.” She twirls her honey-colored, bouncy hair around her finger, cocking her hip and tilting her head like a vintage pinup girl. Tommy, the fun-loving super-flirt, winks. “Hello, pretty, underage lass.” Then he nods to Logan and smiles at me. “Lo . . . Good morning, Miss Ellie.” “Hey, Tommy.” Marlow struts forward. “Three months, Tommy. Three months until I’m a legal adult—then I’m going to use you, abuse you and throw you away.” The dark-haired devil grins. “That’s my idea of a good date.” Then he gestures toward the back door. “Now, are we ready for a fun day of learning?” One of the security guys has been walking me to school ever since the public and press lost their minds over Nicholas and Olivia’s still-technically-unconfirmed relationship. They make sure no one messes with me and they drive me in the tinted, bulletproof SUV when it rains—it’s a pretty sweet deal. I grab my ten-thousand-pound messenger bag from the corner. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. Elle—you should have a huge banger here tonight!” says Marlow. Tommy and Logan couldn’t have synced up better if they’d practiced: “No fucking way.” Marlow holds up her hands, palms out. “Did I say banger?” “Huge banger,” Tommy corrects. “No—no fucking way. I meant, we should have a few friends over to . . . hang out. Very few. Very mature. Like . . . almost a study group.” I toy with my necklace and say, “That actually sounds like a good idea.” Throwing a party when your parents are away is a rite-of-high-school passage. And after this summer, Liv will most likely never be away again. It’s now or never. “It’s a terrible idea.” Logan scowls. He looks kinda scary when he scowls. But still hot. Possibly, hotter. Marlow steps forward, her brass balls hanging out and proud. “You can’t stop her—that’s not your job. It’s like when the Bush twins got busted in that bar with fake IDs or Malia was snapped smoking pot at Coachella. Secret Service couldn’t stop them; they just had to make sure they didn’t get killed.” Tommy slips his hands in his pockets, laid back even when he’s being a hardass. “We could call her sister. Even from an ocean away, I’d bet she’d stop her.” “No!” I jump a little. “No, don’t bother Liv. I don’t want her worrying.” “We could board up the fucking doors and windows,” Logan suggests. ’Cause that’s not overkill or anything. I move in front of the two security guards and plead my case. “I get why you’re concerned, okay? But I have this thing—it’s like my motto. I want to suck the lemon.” Tommy’s eyes bulge. “Suck what?” I laugh, shaking my head. Boys are stupid. “You know that saying, ‘When life gives you lemons, make lemonade’?—well, I want to suck the lemon dry.” Neither of them seems particularly impressed. “I want to live every bit of life, experience everything it has to offer, good and bad.” I lift my jeans to show my ankle—and the little lemon I’ve drawn there. “See? When I’m eighteen, I’m going to get this tattooed on for real. As a reminder to live as much and as hard and as awesome as I can—to not take anything for granted. And having my friends over tonight is part of that.” I look back and forth between them. Tommy’s weakening—I can feel it. Logan’s still a brick wall. “It’ll be small. And quiet—I swear. Totally controlled. And besides, you guys will be here with me. What could go wrong?” Everything. Everything goes fucking wrong.

We came to the city because we wished to live haphazardly, to reach for only the least realistic of our desires, and to see if we could not learn what our failures had to teach, and not, when we came to live, discover that we had never died. We wanted to dig deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to be overworked and reduced to our last wit. And if our bosses proved mean, why then we’d evoke their whole and genuine meanness afterward over vodka cranberries and small batch bourbons. And if our drinking companions proved to be sublime then we would stagger home at dawn over the Old City cobblestones, into hot showers and clean shirts, and press onward until dusk fell again. For the rest of the world, it seemed to us, had somewhat hastily concluded that it was the chief end of man to thank God it was Friday and pray that Netflix would never forsake them. Still we lived frantically, like hummingbirds; though our HR departments told us that our commitments were valuable and our feedback was appreciated, our raises would be held back another year. Like gnats we pestered Management— who didn’t know how to use the Internet, whose only use for us was to set up Facebook accounts so they could spy on their children, or to sync their iPhones to their Outlooks, or to explain what tweets were and more importantly, why— which even we didn’t know. Retire! we wanted to shout. We ha Get out of the way with your big thumbs and your senior moments and your nostalgia for 1976! We hated them; we wanted them to love us. We wanted to be them; we wanted to never, ever become them. Complexity, complexity, complexity! We said let our affairs be endless and convoluted; let our bank accounts be overdrawn and our benefits be reduced. Take our Social Security contributions and let it go bankrupt. We’d been bankrupt since we’d left home: we’d secure our own society. Retirement was an afterlife we didn’t believe in and that we expected yesterday. Instead of three meals a day, we’d drink coffee for breakfast and scavenge from empty conference rooms for lunch. We had plans for dinner. We’d go out and buy gummy pad thai and throat-scorching chicken vindaloo and bento boxes in chintzy, dark restaurants that were always about to go out of business. Those who were a little flush would cover those who were a little short, and we would promise them coffees in repayment. We still owed someone for a movie ticket last summer; they hadn’t forgotten. Complexity, complexity. In holiday seasons we gave each other spider plants in badly decoupaged pots and scarves we’d just learned how to knit and cuff links purchased with employee discounts. We followed the instructions on food and wine Web sites, but our soufflés sank and our baked bries burned and our basil ice creams froze solid. We called our mothers to get recipes for old favorites, but they never came out the same. We missed our families; we were sad to be rid of them. Why shouldn’t we live with such hurry and waste of life? We were determined to be starved before we were hungry. We were determined to be starved before we were hungry. We were determined to decrypt our neighbors’ Wi-Fi passwords and to never turn on the air-conditioning. We vowed to fall in love: headboard-clutching, desperate-texting, hearts-in-esophagi love. On the subways and at the park and on our fire escapes and in the break rooms, we turned pages, resolved to get to the ends of whatever we were reading. A couple of minutes were the day’s most valuable commodity. If only we could make more time, more money, more patience; have better sex, better coffee, boots that didn’t leak, umbrellas that didn’t involute at the slightest gust of wind. We were determined to make stupid bets. We were determined to be promoted or else to set the building on fire on our way out. We were determined to be out of our minds.

Do encourage movement: “Let’s swing our arms to the beat of this music. I always feel better when I stretch, don’t you?” Movement always improves sensory processing. Do encourage the child to try a new movement experience: “If you’re interested in that swing, I’ll help you get on.” Children with dyspraxia may enjoy new movement experiences but need help figuring out how to initiate them. Do offer your physical and emotional support: “I’m interested in that swing. Want to try it with me? You can sit on my lap, and we’ll swing together.” The child who is fearful of movement may agree to swing at the playground if he has the security of a loving lap. (Stop if he resists.) Do allow your child to experience unhappiness, frustration, or anger: “Wow, it really hurts when you don’t get picked for the team.” Acknowledging his feelings allows him to deal with them, whereas rushing in to make it better every time he’s hurt prevents him from learning to cope with negative emotions. Do provide appropriate outlets for negative emotions: Make it possible to vent pent-up feelings. Give her a ball or a bucketful of wet sponges to hurl against the fence. Designate a “screaming space” (her room, the basement, or garage) where she can go to pound her chest and shout. Do reinforce what is good about your child’s feelings and actions, even when something goes wrong: “You didn’t mean for the egg to miss the bowl. Cracking eggs takes practice. I’m glad you want to learn. Try again.” Help her assess her experience positively by talking over what she did right and what she may do better the next time. How wonderful to hear that an adult is sympathetic, rather than judgmental! Do praise: “I noticed that you fed and walked the dog. Thanks for being so responsible.” Reward the child for goodness, empathy, and being mindful of the needs of others. “You are a wonderful friend,” or “You make animals feel safe.” Do give the child a sense of control: “If you choose bed now, we’ll have time for a long story. If you choose to play longer, we won’t have time for a story. You decide.” Or, “I’m ready to go to the shoe store whenever you are. Tell me when you’re ready to leave.” Impress on the child that others don’t have to make every decision that affects him. Do set reasonable limits: To become civilized, every child needs limits. “It’s okay to be angry but not okay to hurt someone. We do not pinch.

Do recall how you behaved as a child: Maybe your child is just like you once were. (The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!) Ask yourself what you would have liked to make your childhood easier and more pleasurable. More trips to the playground, free time, or cuddling? Fewer demands? Lower expectations? Try saying, “When I was a kid and life got rough, I liked to climb trees. How about you?” Do respect your child’s needs, even if they seem unusual: “You sure do like a tight tuck-in! There, now you’re as snug as a bug in a rug.” Or, “I’ll stand in front of you while we’re on the escalator. I won’t let you fall.” Do respect your child’s fears, even if they seem senseless: “I see that your ball bounced near those big kids. I’ll go with you. Let’s hold hands.” Your reassurances will help her trust others. Do say “I love you”: Assure your child that you accept and value who she is. You cannot say “I love you” too often! Do follow your instincts: Your instincts will tell you that everyone needs to touch and be touchable, to move and be movable. If your child’s responses seem atypical, ask questions, get information, and follow up with appropriate action. Do listen when others express concerns: When teachers or caregivers suggest that your child’s behavior is unusual, you may react with denial or anger. But remember that they see your child away from home, among many other children. Their perspective is worth considering. Do educate yourself about typical child development: Read. Take parent education classes. Learn about invariable stages of human development, as well as variable temperaments and learning styles. It’s comforting to know that a wide variety of behaviors falls within the normal range. Then, you’ll find it easier to differentiate between typical and atypical behavior. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and a six-year-old is just a six-year-old! Do seek professional help: SPD is a problem that a child can’t overcome alone. Parents and teachers can’t “cure” a child, just as a child can’t cure himself. Early intervention is crucial. Do keep your cool: When your child drives you crazy, collect your thoughts before responding, especially if you are angry, upset, or unpleasantly surprised. A child who is out of control needs the calm reassurance of someone who is in control. She needs a grown-up. Do take care of yourself: When you’re having a hard day, take a break! Hire a babysitter and go for a walk, read a book, take a bath, dine out, make love. Nobody can be expected to give another person undivided attention, and still cope.

... I believe true love arises only when two people are completely in sync with each other’s music. And dance with them.” -Michael to Sophia

Diver said something to me, about how it's amazing love ever happens at all. Think about it. Two people have to get their brains and their hearts and . . . other elements of their anatomy . . . all in sync. And then the circumstances of their lives have to be in sync too.

Our hearts are in sync. They beat together. How they mourn each other. Calling for us to discover. One another as one lover - Soul Nudge

Red wine and Hennessy She fell out of her bottle when she fell into love, cup running over, overflowing emotions in glass- red stained palet, on a pallet on the grass, to a quilt on the floor -affixed between lips and red lipstick on a shirt that he wore. A familiar place, she know she's been here before Reminiscent of the evening On his shirt that she tore ............ Drop by drop, puddle in glass getting lower- impressions in her gut, rim of her glass, hour glass figure moves counter clockwise - while absorbing the contents of merlot. Hard liquor and fine wine ............. Red Wine and Hennessy A wicked twist on some champagne tips French nails, manicures over grapes Whoever said wine and liquor don't mix? Last night I had six Bottle caps, corks, bedazzled juice Merlot was her name - slim waist - good taste slinger neck, red lace. Long stem, pedestal - hands embraced her face ............. room temperature, her body temperature ... personality of two, she's mellow and chill... aged to perfection- pop the seal- watch the erection ... splatters on the floor- covers the rug, Residue of red lipstick- Merlot stained lips match the kiss on his neck ............ Chasing fantasy through the Red Sea While chasing that with a white BC How much will she pour- how much will she drink How much more before her ship sinks ........... A full body lush, blackberry crush Medium sized Bordeaux Intense velvety plum I asked her where she's from She said she's international She's longer thinking rational .......... Sips in sync with blinking eyes She sips too much to realize Every time you pour into me, my bottle gets more empty- Glass falling to the floor She staggers to the door Glass shatters her feet She stumbles to her seat She's still asking for more But she falls to the floor Red lipstick in the mud She covers up the blood ............ She lays in her wine She forgot about the time Clock on the wall Footsteps in the hall Pounding in her head She rushes to the bed ......... She lays motionless ... but her head is racing Her heart is pacing Her lungs are gasping - air, she needs air Rolls to her side, brings her self to sit up She gags and gags until She throws it all up- ........... Wakes up the next morning Dazed and confused She's laying in a bed That she's not used to She moves slowly, where did everyone go? She checks the time- it's a quarter pass 4 sounds on the other side of the door Are Muffled by the sound of a knock at the door ........... Looks around for her little red dress Notices a blotch - a red stain on her breast Lipstick smeared an accessory to her mess She reached for her clothes and saw a note on the desk. .......... Dearly beloved, I want to see you again I'd love to have to back I think we make a great blend I tried to wake you Because I had to go And Oh by the way, my name is merlot "Little Black Bird

By contrast, just as being out of sync with our environment is exhausting and dispiriting, finding others on the same resonant frequency is one of the most wonderful things in life.

It’s hard to write this with dispassion because I hate mass mantras. I never trust or believe them, because they always pervert themselves, even when the mantra is in sync with my own views. Progressive political and social beliefs are generally lifelong, deeply held convictions, not transient group mores. Yes, consciousness can be raised, and I always love it when someone who voted for Ronald Reagan wakes up and smells the coffee, but I’m nervous when we try to make converts through the AIGA or I.D. Magazine. If they’re that easily converted, they may respond just as positively to the mantra of the next decade, which could well turn out to be fascism.

The way he’s constricting around my cock has me wanting to confess every emotion and feeling I still have for him.  It’s euphoric the way we fit so perfectly together like this. Our bodies are still sweating, even under the hot water, our hearts racing and beating in sync.

Rather than see my body as a vanity vehicle, the physical manifestation of my ego, I now see it as a trusted best friend. We’re not always in sync, but I assume the best intentions of my body, and it holds me accountable when I’ve neglected it. It is not a machine to be optimized, but instead a friend to be loved. What if your body isn’t at war with you? What if your body is your wisest teacher, guiding you to the truths you need to learn? Before going to bed each night, maybe you can ask your wise body, “How can you teach me to live a better life?

Love is not interested in your background or your status symbol, your education your riches or your poverty, love only listens to two things and those two things are two people's souls played in sync the music and the song that the two sing, and if so love is granted to you by love

We are all motion in this magical motion, near and far, in dreams as in reality, collective consciousness that’s out of sync, streaming conflicts despair wars and hunger, human suffering and insecurity, the lies and the truth are in bed together, they are married, love and hate are soul mates twin flames depending on what propaganda the news feed us to stir up the emotions

Alex and I have always been like thunder and lightning. Close together and part of the same storm, but never clashing in perfect sync. I had given up hope long ago that things would happen between us but also felt that in another universe, a different lifetime, our fates would collide.

But He is a God of love only as far as His justice, holiness, and righteousness will permit! His justice never contradicts His love and His love is in perfect harmony with his justice. If your doctrine makes them oppose one another, your theology is out of sync with Scripture.

Like we all sync our watches every year, at the start and at the end of daylight saving time, we also need to sync our relationships once in a while.

But for now, he just said, “Just calling it like I see it, gorgeous,” and fucked him harder. His tight, controlled movement devolved into something rougher, messier, a brutal pounding that Simon met at every thrust. They were completely in sync, two completely disparate people joined by their overwhelming connection.

Become loving and become courageous. Become the inspiration which you seek outside. Bring the metaphorical heart of your limbic system in sync with the analytical powerhouse of the prefrontal cortex. From your mind shall rise the inspiration. From your mind shall rise the love. From your mind shall rise the greatest education of all.

That’s it,” Rachel whispered, a horrified look on her beautiful face. “This is where I die. In a furniture store the size of freakin’ Costco!” She shuffled off after the saleswoman and I quickly caught up to her side. When I got there, her psychotic-Barbie look was back. “Did you know the leather couches we’re about to look at have a warranty for ten years? No cracks!” “Oh, well in that case, I have to buy these. Right?” “Of course.” She got oddly silent as we followed along and out of nowhere started dancing all crazy and lip-syncing to the song playing throughout the store. I stopped, my eyes going wide as I watched her. As soon as the chorus ended she stopped, and just in time, since our saleswoman had turned to see why we weren’t with her. “Y’all coming?” “Yes, ma’am!” Rachel answered since I was still looking at her with my jaw dropped. Her serene expression began cracking and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing. Glancing over at me, she gave me a soft nudge and winked before walking over to the next living room set, leaving me staring after her before I burst out laughing. Damn, I’m pretty sure I just fell in love with Rachel Masters.   R

How can you want to marry a man or woman of God but you don't read your Playbook? You can’t be in sync with your potential spouse if they are studying the Bible and you aren't.

Jared never prayed, because the idea of a loving God seemed out of sync with the facts of the world.

Talkative represents the man or woman who delights in talking about divine things but has only theoretical knowledge of such things. No actual personal heart experience correlates to the matters they love to discuss so eloquently. They are often highly esteemed by others, but those closest to them would quickly betray a life out-of-sync with their words. The mask fashioned by fluency with all subjects divine hides their real life. 2.

There are many scanning apps for smartphones and they all work fine. I like Scannable because it’s designed by the makers of Evernote, which is an ideal place to store things like receipts anyway. You can scan things with Scannable and they’ll automatically be synced into Evernote where you can find them later on. And it’s free; others you’ll have to pay for.

If someone let you go, go. Love is a weird kind of wonderful. It is the reason for our stay here on earth. Love and life, with all their glory and all their thorns, proves to be a powerful teacher. Holding on when it’s time to move on, is not the way. If the road seems blocked, unblock yourself. Listen to yourself, breathe and get in sync with the wisdom of your soul. If the way remains blocked, find a different way. That way is not your way.

(Verse 1) In the glow of a **dawn's early light**, With the dew on the grass, shining so bright, A cup of coffee, a **gentle breeze**, These little things, oh how they please. (Chorus) **Grab your hat and dance in the rain,** **Kick off your boots, forget the pain,** **Laugh with friends, under the sun's reign,** **Life's a sweet ride, hop on the train!** **Raise your glass to the stars above,** **Sing with heart, push and shove,** **Every little moment, fit like a glove,** **It's the simple things that we love!** (Verse 2) A **dog's wagging tail**, a **porch swing's sway**, The **colors of flowers** that brighten the day, A **song on the radio** that takes you back, To the **sweet old memories** that never lack. (Bridge) **Lights down low, we're just starting up,** **Fill up the tank, let's raise our cup,** **To the moments that feel like a live wire,** **Simple sparks igniting our fire.** **Sync to the beat of the city's pulse,** **Every little win, every single result,** **We're living loud in the here and now,** **In the simple life, we take our bow.** (Verse 3) **Under the wide-open sky so blue,** **Life's painting scenes, each one anew,** **A simple hello, a wave goodbye,** **In these little things, our dreams fly high.** **With every sunrise, we start again,** **Finding joy in the whisper of the wind,** **A hearty laugh, a warm embrace,** **In the simple life, we find our grace.** (Chorus) **Turn it up, let the bass line roll,** **Simple life's got that rock 'n' roll soul,** **Snap your fingers, tap your feet,** **Living for the moment, life's so sweet.** **Catch the vibe, let it take control,** **These little things are how we roll,** **From the heartland to the city's grip,** **It's the simple life that makes us flip.** (Verse 4) **The jukebox plays a tune that's bittersweet,** **Echoing tales of love and deceit,** **But in the neon glow, we find our truth,** **In simple things, we reclaim our youth.** **A twist of fate, a turn of the key,** **Life's full of surprises, as we can see,** **A chance encounter, a new beginning,** **In the simple life, we keep on winning.**

Mindfulness (A poem) *** MINDFULNESS ****** We're sitting on a hill, reminiscing about our deeds. These are mesmerising moments of ease; scenes are harmonising in keys. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. We think about the nice days from our teens;   the things that we did at our free will. We're in sync with the future and past tensions.   Indeed, we could enjoy the present intentions.    But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. We envision our problems gone; with collisions exposed and pawned. Oh! We could enjoy this peaceful time, on this hill, watching the sunrise. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. The beautiful birds stride pass our face. Thick cuticles blurred, striped by hours of grace. They flap their wings, forming art; tail lamps for us, bleeding hearts. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. People of different cultures come to us. Simple, they offer their services; no Judas. Wave their hands with care;   give their food to share. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. What a sad case this is; our mindfulness is butchered. Heads are swimming inbetween the past and the future. Opportunities to love others in truth are being missed. Communities could share love so true; limiting the rifts. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period.

Hindi films are known and enjoyed worldwide for their songs and dances. These days it is fashionable to battle tradition by using a Western format of telling stories, where music stays in the background. I can't wrap my head around it. I don't think it helps the story move forward. I also believe that a film gets a lot of repeat value when an actor is wooing an actress with a popular song. We represent a dream world and our audiences love it. It may seem old-fashioned but I firmly believe that lip-syncing (by an actor) is the best way to picturize a song, to maximize its appeal. It simply does not have the same magic when the song is played in the background.

I fought a losing battle against my fair skin and propensity to color up at the drop of a hat. Or dick. And why do they always have to be so dang in sync? Could they not just for a day?

A shudder rolled through us, our bodies so in sync we reacted the exact fucking way at the exact fucking time.

The handsome Prince Nelly, new gay bar royalty, lip-synced along to his power ballad selections with a crooner’s passion, both his fists at his sternum. He announced the next song into a microphone, imparting copious factoids. In general, the music was eighties pop—Dead or Alive, Bananarama, Belinda Carlisle, the Human League—and stuff irresistible after imbibing cheap beer: ‘Fantasy’ by Mariah Carey. ‘9 to 5.’ Crystal Castles. CSS. Janet Jackson’s ‘When I Think of You.’ ‘Just Can’t Get Enough’ by Depeche Mode. ‘That’s Not My Name.’ MGMT. ‘D.A.N.C.E.’ ‘Last Dance.’ I recognized the Lovely Jonjo from his appearance on the cover of Butt magazine.

Eden by Maisie Aletha Smikle In the garden Eden Streams of tranquility glide Flowers magnificently bloom Adam, Eve and animals freely roam Springs sprout Waterfalls emerge Angels smile Earth and Heaven were once in sync Absent was the sting of sin There were no frost To bite the grass Causing trees to freeze There were no fierce heat To kindle a blaze There were no winds That were unkind There were no raindrops That weren't welcome All were in perfect peace All were in harmony so sweet The garden Eden Was the home of the people Handmade by the Father Precious were they Adam and Eve God's first human masterpieces They were loved God gave them a home And grew for them a lovely garden God gave them pets of all species He gave them glorious healing spas and herbs God gave them fruits and food of every kind Everything Adam and Eve had to their hearts desire An envious snake Probably a BOA Saw joy peace love and happiness And hated joy peace love and happiness BOA vowed to destroy love peace joy and happiness BOA wanted to create distrust and enmity instead BOA conspired against love peace joy and happiness And conspired to have Adam and Eve thrown out of their home BOA snatched love joy peace and happiness BOA caused the first family Adam and Eve To be thrown out of their home naked A home that was God's unencumbered gift BOA was happy when happiness left When joy love and peace took flight and went And distrust and enmity remain Where BOA can hiss and strike it's venom of loathe Until people are down Naked and have no home BOA is truly a disgrace Indeed BOA is a scrooge

You told me that you will always be there for me if I ever needed you…I need to fall asleep to the lullaby of your heartbeat once again. You see, you told me once that when two eyes meet, the beats of our hearts will sync and my heart can’t dance without the sound of yours. I need to memorize the rhythm of your breath on my skin. I need to feel safe in the shelter of your arms and be calmed by your laughter. I long to taste your smile once more as your hand dances across my skin. I need to look into the blue gray eyes that catch the rays of sun just right…I need you now.

PART 2: MAKE TIME FOR TRACTION •​Chapter 9: Turn your values into time. Timebox your day by creating a schedule template. •​Chapter 10: Schedule time for yourself. Plan the inputs and the outcome will follow. •​Chapter 11: Schedule time for important relationships. Include household responsibilities as well as time for people you love. Put regular time on your schedule for friends. •​Chapter 12: Sync your schedule with stakeholders.

can't ignore the market, but remember that customers rarely leave us for our competitors. They leave us because we stop taking care of them. Communicate the strategy across the organization. This is part of evangelizing the vision. It's important that all key business partners in the company know the customers we're focused on now and which are planned for later. Stay especially closely synced with sales, marketing, finance, and service.

Based on the Waste." By Aron Micko H.B Pure hot chocolate milk love to drink; I've got a pen and my time is to start to think. I forgot to take a vitamin C with zinc; However, the moment is starting to sync. I lost along the way, not doublethink; Imagination runs fast, stare and wink. The right brain forgot the word critic; In some laziness of the left brain link. I saw my pastel lose the color pink. I drop accidentally all colors shrink; The smoke coming in the door stink; My nose starts to smell some sink. My hand start to flow no more think; Drop someone's chocolate milk drink. I drew strange lady, a blink; Trying to waste my mom's ballpen ink.

this way I could always feel something in these relationships was out of sync from the beginning. Moving through the motions of intimacy with this dread pulling at the back of my mind was an anxious state to exist in, always suspecting that a person did not want to be with me but being too afraid to ask. It meant I got so good at pretending I didn’t need anything that I forgot how to be myself.

What’s the importance of family, my love?” Mother stroked my hair as I was curled up in her lap. It was late out, the fireplace keeping us warm as an unremarkable movie played in front of us. Dad had just left us a couple of months ago. I remember my eyes being glued to the television screen as we had the conversation, even though I wasn’t paying attention to it. Even before this was brought up, I wasn’t listening and instead paying attention to the sound of my mother’s heartbeat and the way her breathing moved in sync with it as well as her chest, moving up and down. “I don’t know, momma. So you grow up kind?” She chuckled, placing her finger on the tip of my nose, “So that you grow up loved.

They could stay up all night, saying “Remember…” or “Did you see…” Sometimes they’d doze and maybe they’d awaken to nibble at each other. They lived and breathed in extended silences followed by bursts of amazed nose-to-nose chatter that they were together, alive, in sync, in love.

In trying to explain the appeal of marriage to an adolescent daughter who shows almost zero interest in the arrangement, columnist Heather Havrilesky says something remarkable about love: Marriage can’t simply be about living your best lives in sync. Because some of the peak moments of a marriage are when you share in your anxieties, your fears, your longing, and even your horrors. . . . That’s why sickness and death are key to marriage vows. Because there is nothing more divine than being able to say, out loud, “Today, I am really, truly at my worst,” knowing that it won’t make your spouse run for the hills. My husband has seen my worst before. We both know that our worst is likely to get worse from here. Somehow that feels like grace.4

Doesn’t matter where this wheel is going to bring us ‘cause with him, my soul will always be in sync.

Do build on the child’s strengths: “You are such a good cook! Help me remember what we need for our meat loaf recipe. Then, you can mix it.” Or, “You have energy to spare. Could you run over to Mrs. Johnson’s house and get a magazine she has for me?” Think “ability,” not “disability.” Do build on the child’s interests: “Your collection of rocks is growing fast. Let’s read some books about rocks. We can make a list of the different kinds you have found.” Your interest and support will encourage the child to learn more and do more. Do suggest small, manageable goals to strengthen your child’s abilities: “How about if you walk with me just as far as the mailbox? You can drop the letter in. Then I’ll carry you piggy-back, all the way home.” Or, “You can take just one dish at a time to clear the table. We aren’t in a hurry.” Do encourage self-help skills: To avoid “learned helplessness,” sponsor your child’s independence. “I know it’s hard to tie your shoes, but each time you do it, it will get easier.” Stress how capable she is, and how much faith you have in her, to build her self-esteem and autonomy. Show her you have expectations that she can help herself. Do let your child engage in appropriate self-therapy: If your child craves spinning, let him spin on the tire swing as long as he wants. If he likes to jump on the bed, get him a trampoline, or put a mattress on the floor. If he likes to hang upside down, install a chinning bar in his bedroom doorway. If he insists on wearing boots every day, let him wear boots. If he frequently puts inedible objects into his mouth, give him chewing gum. If he can’t sit still, give him opportunities to move and balance, such as sitting on a beach ball while he listens to music or a story. He will seek sensations that nourish his hungry brain, so help him find safe ways to do so. Do offer new sensory experiences: “This lavender soap is lovely. Want to smell it?” Or, “Turnips crunch like apples but taste different. Want a bite?” Do touch your child, in ways that the child can tolerate and enjoy: “I’ll rub your back with this sponge. Hard or gently?” Or, “Do you know what three hand squeezes mean, like this? I-Love-You!

I know that Emma feels bad about going into motherhood without me—I felt bad about going into lesbianism without her when I met my first girlfriend. We dislike being out of sync. “Do we look alike?” she used to ask people in college. “On a spectrum of heads,” my father told her once, “you’re not that far apart.” A girl at a bar in the East Village asked us, “Which one of you came up with the personality?” when we were jabbering at her one night soon after we moved to New York City. We loved that.

Sometimes, and I guess it’s a bit rare, you do find that one person who makes the idea of being in a relationship sound so damn easy you can’t explain the emotion of it. You wake up in the morning thinking how can I make them smile in such a way they refuse to think of anything else but you. And each day, saying good night is truly the last thing you wanna do or even could do. You forget all about being timid, you throw caution to the wind, and you hope that the decision to love them is more than just your imagination. Everything with them fits—everything. Their smile is a song to you. Their laughter is the music. You watch their chest to see if your breathing is in sync because I deduct that’s what love is—rhythm.

Asymmetries in hedonic and instrumental consequences can also lead to the formation and maintenance of beliefs that can have more serious consequences, such as those that induce marital conflict. Many people claim that their spouses “never” do the chores or tasks they have agreed to do. While the claim is surely justified in some cases, in others it may stem from the fact that the spouse’s failure to wash the dishes, clean the counter, or do the laundry arouses resentment and anger, and can have immediate instrumental consequences such as the need to do the tasks oneself. When the tasks are performed on time, however, the world runs smoothly and there is little to notice. Similar processes operate in the common belief among couples that they are “out of sync”—it seems one always wants to stay home and watch TV when the other needs to socialize, one wants to make love when the other “needs some space,” one is upbeat when the other is morose, etc. Here too, there may be an inherent asymmetry in the salience of relevant events that can make things seem more out of sync than they really are. Wanting to do something when the other does not is frustrating, and it can occupy the contents of one’s mental life for some time. Examples of asynchrony are therefore easily brought to mind. But again, when a couple’s passions, preferences, or moods coincide, things go smoothly and the events can be less noteworthy. Furthermore, even when they do stand out, they tend to do so by virtue of the quality of the events themselves, and not by virtue of the synchrony that produced them. They are categorized and remembered as instances of laughter, passion, or fun, and not as instances of synchrony.

Maybe that's why the old Beatle albums are so irritating today that just now, as I was playing Rubber Soul while writing this article, I took it off to type in silence, and my friend working nearby agreed that what once was ecstasy, the heart's rush of being in love for the first time, had through some curious process become a mere annoyance. The Beatles today are out of time, out of place, out of sync with a present reality that isn't particularly grim (from this chair, anyway) but neither is it exactly amenable to certain types of artifacts.

We should all have beautiful ambitions for our lives and who we might become, but we also need to sync it up so we’re not fooled into believing we’ve already arrived at a place in our faith we’ve only been thinking about going to someday.

We're sitting on a hill, reminiscing about our deeds. These are mesmerising moments of ease; scenes are harmonising in keys. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. We think about the nice days from our teens; the things that we did at our free will. We're in sync with the future and past tensions. Indeed, we could enjoy the present intentions. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. We envision our problems gone; with collisions exposed and pawned. Oh! We could enjoy this peaceful time, on this hill, watching the sunrise. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. The beautiful birds stride pass our face. Thick cuticles blurred, striped by hours of grace. They flap their wings, forming art; tail lamps for us, bleeding hearts. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. People of different cultures come to us. Simple, they offer their services; no Judas. Wave their hands with care; give their food to share. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. What a sad case this is; our mindfulness is butchered. Heads are swimming between the past and the future. Opportunities to love others in truth are being missed. Communities could share true love; limiting the rifts. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period.

Rumi wrote: “On truth’s path, wise is mad, insane is wise. In love’s way, self and other are the same.

There is no one-size-fits-all definition for success. We think it’s money, but all the money in the world can’t compensate for waking up in a life that feels out of sync with who you are and what your values are.

If you feel an unquenchable thirst in you, welcome it. Celebrate it. In children, this thirst presents itself as curiosity. In adolescents, it appears as a search for love, for belonging. In young adults, it manifests itself as a search for worldly success, validation, recognition and acceptance in society. And when you are past your mid-30s...latest by your 40s...it appears as a search for meaning. Slowly, if you are tuned, and are in sync with the energy that created you, you discover something magical! You awaken to the truth that Life is intrinsically meaningless. And bringing meaning to your Life is your responsibility. You do that by following your Bliss, by choosing not to postpone your Happiness!

Our stories are timeless and tested. They are about us, a people of tremendous strength.Our songs are full of love and life— and the ups and downs of both. They are soulful with the rhythms of a heart that is in sync with nature and wonderment. Our struggles are real and rugged. They beckon our memory to the highest callings of the spirit, to help us rejoice and to overcome.

She said think of the reasons you loved the person who’s gone, then try to be those things.

His attentive and careful listening inspired me to be more than the perfect version of myself that I showed to the world.

As if the future was subtly bringing us closer, crafting the next chapter of our tale without our words ever having to be said.

He took everything in with an air of ceremonial deference, as if the act itself had meaning beyond what was there in the text.

If ever there was a person for whom love was created, it was for you.” He presses a kiss against my lips, and I clasp his face with both my hands and kiss him back. Our mouths meet with devotion. Bonds pulsing in sync with our singing hearts that only play for us.

It’s a love story. The word is for our brightest stars. They have a connection between two of them that is timeless and looks like a shadow holding them together. One is a heart, and one is a soul, perfectly in sync and inseparable, even when the sky is pulling them apart.

Like a boat on a maiden voyage, we have been cast into the world, we marvel at the genius the masterpiece found in the endless universe, and wonder how we cannot put into words the world around us and life, we are shocked that nothing lives forever, our greatest prize the capacity to think, there are always more questions than answers and still we don’t know the answer to life, thousands of years of interpretations found in books of faith and wisdom leaves us empty asking more questions then we have been given answers to, the marriage between life and death between love and hate, between joy and grief, between the sky and lands, and everything churns, boils, bubbles simmers and swirls. like the white foaming of crashing waves, and everything moves and twists like our thoughts and beliefs, while busy making memories, we remember old memories some good and happy some sad, we are just spirits sailing through life trying to make sense of everything, every day new advancements new discoveries new fashion new ideas new trends, the morning sunrise says it’s a beautiful day but everything changes so slowly and we are caught up in the perfection, accomplishments, excellence fulfillment of social heredity and we crown everything that is out of sync and call it high-mindedness, the dogs are barking, and the pony mare and stallions are running wild on the range where the rivers wind and twist on their way to the ocean, the kingdom of earth is life we have the use of everything around us, and nothing belongs to us, and we make fuss about everything as if our very life depended on it, what a show, what a spectacle, and so many interpretation, and people fighting over who is right and who is wrong, while I’m just living in the confinement of time, just living in the world what we call life. Living in the world we call home