Lotus Jennifer Hartmann Quotes

There is beauty to be found everywhere… even in the things that scare us.

The Lotus will bloom into the most magnificent flower, even when its roots are in the murkiest of waters.

I’m right here, with you, and I’m still holding onto your heart. Please don’t ask me to give it back.

One person’s suffering shouldn’t take the joy out of something others may find pleasure

But not all love is meant to stay. Sometimes it only serves a temporary purpose.

And I love her, so entirely, so painfully… I always have. I tell her in the way I hold her, in the way I look at her, in the way I say her name. She is my favorite part of me.

Pressing our foreheads together, gazes still locked, I whisper with ardency: “I love you, Syd. I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you until my dying day.

We’ll be best friends forever, right?” “Yes. Until I die.” “Even then, I’ll find a way to bring you back.

Sydney Neville + Oliver Lynch It’s always been us.

We’ll rise from the ashes with smoke in our lungs and scars on our skin, but we will persevere. We will thrive.

I want to experience raw emotion, inspired by other humans. Love, passion, companionship

Like every star in the galaxy tumbled to Earth and crawled beneath my skin.

One person’s suffering shouldn’t take the joy out of something others may find pleasure in,” I tell her. “It would be a very sad world if that were the case.

You're going to lose me by trying too hard not to lose me....

God, who hurt you, Sydney?

There’s a hurricane in her eyes, and it’s either going to swallow me whole or leave me crippled, on my knees, lost and alone among the wreckage.

Okay, I’m done being fancy. Time for booze and vulgarity.

Of course, I love her. I love her more than I love fresh air.

Casual sex is one thing, but my relationship with Oliver is anything but casual. It’s everything. The risk of permanent damage is too great, and I refuse to cross that line.

Love is a paradox.

Sydney loves me. And I love her, so entirely, so painfully… I always have. I tell her in the way I hold her, in the way I look at her, in the way I say her name. She is my favorite part of me.

Look, I know you didn’t want to see me, but—” “I wanted to see you.” I’m startled by the sound of my own voice as I turn to look at her through a jagged swallow. “I just didn’t want to be seen.

Maybe I’m desensitized to real men. Maybe my expectations live between the pages of books involving heroes with ten-inch schlongs and magical tongues, performing grandeur gestures to sweep their heroines off their feet.

Facebook, Oliver. You’d know what I’m talking about if you logged in more than once. All you’ve posted is an off-centered picture of a blurry raccoon.” “I’m still getting acclimated to the camera feature.” “You also only have two friends, and they’re both fake accounts.” “They told me I had funds available in a deceased relative’s account that they would help me retrieve. It sounded promising.” A sharp laugh hits me. “You didn’t even accept my friend request.” “You weren’t offering me two-million dollars.” Another laugh that prompts my own.

Because we’re a fucked-up, complicated species prone to self-sabotage, baseless insecurities, and the notion that there’s always something better around the corner. We’re constantly chasing imaginary destinations, thinking we’re missing out, wanting more. We’re never truly present.

I’d like to tell you there’s an expiration date on your pain, but I will never lie to you,

You hypnotize me,

And I can’t help but wonder if what I saw in her eyes just now was the same thing I felt when I watched Sydney’s mouth on another man’s that summer evening.

You always deserve what is meant for you, and if anything is meant to be, it’s us,

And sometimes, it’s not about survival at all. It’s about living through the worst possible loss, heartache and pain, regardless of whether or not we make it to the other side.

strange, alluring aura that compels me to pull each brick out of place, one by one, until that wall comes crumbling down.

I’m uncertain if I’ll enjoy this new way of sleeping and contemplate pulling the blankets to the floor beside the bed, pretending I’m back in that basement, curled up on the hard ground.

The Queen of the Lotus is no longer a little girl with pigtails, clutching a tattered teddy bear to her overalls. She’s a full-grown woman with wild sun-kissed hair, black spectacles, and a Nirvana T-shirt tied at her hip with a rubber band. Her eyes are shaded in the bluest colored pencil I could find, and her nose is small, her lips plump, her frame slim, yet busty. Her humor shines through in her dialogue, along with an assortment of curse words and witty retorts. She is fierce. She is goofy. She is beautiful. She is Syd.

She turns to me, our faces so close I’m afraid to pull my eyes to hers. The magnetism is too strong, the distance between us too slight. If I look at her now, I’ll be lost. But I do. And I am.

Her hands are curled around a stroller bar, housing a baby who appears to be fast asleep. “Of Mice and Men,” she replies with a soft grin. “My friend insists I need to read it, and she gave her copy to someone else.” My gaze shifts to the left, spotting a petite blond, her hair a similar color to Gabe’s, with her nose in a book.

I just wanted you to know that you’re not alone. Cora and I connected through our shared tragedy, and now she’s a dear friend. Good things can be found everywhere…even in our worst nightmares.

I have an assortment of burning questions to match the burning of my cheeks, but one, in particular, stands out: What is a moist muffin?

Oliver…” I say in the most pathetic, longing breath. “What are you doing here?” Those dimples blossom even more as he situates himself on a barstool, eyes darting around curiously before focusing on me. “I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.” I’m swooning. And it’s so obvious I’m swooning, I swear everyone in the club is staring at me, pointing, laughing at the swooning girl who forgot how to talk again.

I remember a little girl,” I say, my voice ragged and worn. I don’t even recognize it. I watch as Sydney pauses her steps, turning to face me, her eyes a vibrant sea of awe and wonder. “That was you?” She nods, a gesture that is slow and timid as she tucks a gilded strand of hair behind one ear. I’m unable to determine if her expression is pained or joyful. Her voice shakes when a query floats over to me from across the room. “You remember me?” “I thought I created you.” Sydney’s unease seems to wash away at my words and her body relaxes, a smile blooming to life. “I’ve always been here.

Do you want me to stop by tomorrow? Maybe we can talk, or watch TV or something? You know…hang out?” Cool. Like we’re freakin’ six-years-old. I flash back to knocking on his front door, asking his mother if he could “play.” Oliver’s brow creases as he contemplates my offer. The golden glints in his eyes swirl and spin, echoing his racing thoughts. Then he says, simply: “No.

We were just…playing a game. Twister. You know, with the colorful dots and weird yoga poses? Crazy fun.” “Twister?” My frown deepens. “I assumed you were having sex.” Gabe’s mouth shapes into an O as his eyebrows raise, his feet shuffling back and forth like he’s uncomfortable. “Right. We did that, too. After Twister.

Gabe ordered me new clothes all the way from the Amazon, and they fit remarkably well. And they arrived much quicker than one would anticipate for such lengthy travel.

Unsure of what else to do, I pull out my cellular device. I suppose I should get some use out of it. Scanning through the plethora of icons, I find the one that allows me to transmit messages. I locate Sydney’s name and type out: Hi, it’s Oliver. Don’t be alarmed, but I’m standing behind you.

I’ll be fine. But you can help me pick out an outfit.” “I don’t feel qualified…

Taken?” he wonders, eyebrows raised in question. “Was she alluding to my abduction?” “She assumed we were sleeping together,” I explain, a smile lifting. “Oh.” The question doesn’t leave his face. “That’s an odd conclusion to make.” A chuckle slips out when I realize he doesn’t understand the context. “She thought we were having sex.” Blush stains his cheeks. Damn, that’s adorable. Oliver tucks his chin to his chest and repeats, “Oh.

I never want to go back there.” I shake my head, adamantly. “You won’t. It’s over, and you survived. Do you trust me?” Another slow nod. “You’re the only one I trust.” Oliver’s voice is ragged and strained, but his words put my shattered heart right back together. “Good, because I won’t lose you again.

Oliver holds it up to his ear and waits, but it keeps ringing. “You’re such a goof. You have to press Accept.” I’m still giggling when I swipe the phone back, noting that the caller is Gabe.

They found the guy, Syd. They found the bastard who took him.” “Oh my God. Is he alive?” A frown creases between Oliver’s eyes as he rises to his feet. We stare at each other as Gabe replies, “No. They found him with his head bashed in.

Merely seconds go by before Alexis hops up and settles contentedly in my lap. I’m growing quite fond of this feline.

If you saw that I worked at a library on the ‘getting laid’ database, would you swipe right?

The truth is, sometimes I’m envious of you, Oliver. People haven’t desensitized you. Relationships haven’t broken you. Society hasn’t poisoned you.

I don’t anticipate that,” I tell her. “I find you visually pleasing. I don’t see how it could become problematic.” She scratches the side of her face with ebony-tipped fingers, a chuckle skimming her lips. “Do you feel the same?” “Do I find you visually pleasing?” she asks through a teasing smile. “Of course. You’re hot, Oliver.

Oliver…why are you here?” “I was hoping I could kiss you again.

I waited twenty-two years to get Oliver Lynch back, and I refuse to go another day with awkward interactions and superficial conversation. We’ve come too far. He’s come too far.

I have a date with Sydney tonight. Apparently, we are watching a movie called The Parent Trap and she is overly delighted to view this particular film with me. She hasn’t told me why, but she said she’s making an abundance of oatmeal cookies to consume while we watch together.

My own laughter competes with hers as I attempt to elude her flailing hands, and then she’s climbing on top of me, straddling my thighs. I lean back further, stretching my arm as far as it will go.

I decide in that moment, that if I could re-create even one of those scenes from her book, I would die a happy man.

Sydney…” he continues, then heaves in a deep breath. “It’s Oliver. They found Oliver.

I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to a be a parent. We are protective of the ones we love.” Her eyes open slowly, meeting mine, as she reaches up to clasp my hand, giving it a tender squeeze. “Yes, we are.

I know who you’re talking about…” he says as his thumbs swipe away at the digital keypad. “Tabitha Brighton. Yeah, this chick.” Glancing over his shoulder, I nod. “Yes, that’s her.” “Goddamn. Where can I get one of these?” he jokes, eyeing the photograph with approval.

Her words feel like a heavy weight upon my chest, and I’m thinking of Sydney again—thinking about her own words that eclipsed my heart: You have no idea what it was like to be haunted by you for twenty-two years. Did she feel how Tabitha feels? Was I that void?

Who do you love, Oliver?” “Pardon?” Tabitha gives my hand a gentle squeeze before releasing me. “That look in your eyes—I recognize it. I stared into eyes like that every single day for weeks.

It’s important to have people in our corner, rooting for our successes,” she agrees. Tabitha’s head tilts slightly to the right as she finishes chewing her chicken. “And sometimes we need to be our own cheerleaders.” My eyes case her thoughtful expression. “How so?” “We need to fight for what’s in our hearts. No one else can do that for us,” she tells me pointedly. “And if there is anything on this earth worth fighting for, it’s love.

I’m not sure what to do,” I admit solemnly, fearfully. Tabitha’s encouraging smile shines back at me. “Be courageous. Be confident. Be bold,” she says, her voice brimming with sincerity as she reaches for my hand once more. “Be red.

I need your wisdom, Athena. What is happening between myself and the girl next door?” The raccoon replies by pressing a sharp claw, a nail like a dagger, right to my heart. Touché.

I have a hard time believing that.” I can’t help but feel offended as my arms cross defensively. “Why is that?” “I have a hard time believing someone could kiss you and regret it.

To the lost and the wandering— You will find your way.

There are humans behind the wheels of these vehicles, some hanging out of their windows, pointing a device toward me. They are breathing the air.

Clem: Answer me, hoochy I groan. Me: I’m working, skank Clem: I need you to watch Poppy this weekend. Pretty please. No cherries on top because I ate them.

Maybe I’m desensitized to real men. Maybe my expectations live between the pages of books involving heroes with ten-inch schlongs and magical tongues, performing grandeur gestures to sweep their heroines off their feet. All I get are stalkers and guys named Milton. Oh, well. I’m totally cool living in my fantasy world, dying a crazy cat lady.

I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you until my dying day. You’re my best friend. You’re my queen,” he whispers, words spilling out like poetry. “Will you be my wife?

I’m right here, with you, and I’m still holding on to your heart. Please don’t ask me to give it back.

The only thing worse than not having you is having you and breaking you apart all over again.” “I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me.” “You don’t know that…

The truth is, I didn’t have a heart to give. My heart was with a ghost.

She is, by far, the greatest work of art.

For the man who grants our wishes. He lives in the sky.

hearts bound and branded with the beats of one another’s.

I used to think strength was rooted in the fight. Prevailing. Surviving the things determined to tear us down. But true strength isn’t necessarily overcoming the fight—it is how we fight. It is not within the sword itself, but in how we wield it.

What did it feel like to you?” My mind is still spinning, my thoughts dizzy and blurred. I’ve never felt anything like that before, so I have little to compare it to, but I try to explain it the best I can. “Like every star in the galaxy tumbled to earth and crawled beneath my skin.

Those are the looks that singe me, scalding straight to the bone, leaving smoke and burn marks in their wake.

Not even this entire can of dry shampoo on my head can save me from the dark hole of depression I’ve managed to dive into, headfirst, as I stare at my bedroom wall eating fun-size Snickers bars in an X-Files onesie.

Lorna has hated me ever since I politely declined her offer to join her Bible club a few years back. I’m assuming it’s like a book club with only one book—the Bible. Considering I like to read dark romances with lots of graphic sex and explicit language, I’m certain I would have been sitting there bored, wondering when Adam and Eve were finally going to get freaky.

It’s all those sex books you read. Your standards are too high.

Who’s there?” I call back. “Yoda lady.” “Yoda lady, who?” Her index finger shoots out to point in my direction. “I didn’t know you could yodel, Oliver Lynch.

then,

Well, it’s not a problem. I ran out of sinning to do that day and got bored. I mean, there’s only a limited number of unprotected sex acts and satanic rituals a girl can partake in before she needs to switch it up, you know?

Facebook, Oliver. You’d know what I’m talking about if you logged in more than once. All you’ve posted is an off-centered picture of a blurry raccoon.

You also only have two friends, and they’re both fake accounts.” “They told me I had funds available in a deceased relative’s account that they would help me retrieve. It sounded promising.” A sharp laugh hits me. “You didn’t even accept my friend request.” “You weren’t offering me two million dollars.

Holy hell. I feel my ovaries spontaneously fertilizing.

There is no logic in the way our hearts beat, Sydney. Only magic.

I dry-humped my best friend on my couch and then I broke his heart.

I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you until my dying day.

You don’t ever forget. That ache never goes away. You just…adjust. You adjust to the void and rebuild your life around that missing piece, hoping something will come along one day and distract you just enough, that your pain abates…even if it’s only for a little while.

One person’s suffering shouldn’t take the joy out of something others may find pleasure in,

When I was five years old, I gave you my heart on your front porch, and you gave me an oatmeal cookie, and I’ve thought about that moment every single day for over two decades. Even when you were gone, you still held my heart.” “I’m not gone anymore, Syd.” His palms find my face, clasping my cheeks, tears slipping through his fingers. “I’m right here, with you, and I’m still holding on to your heart. Please don’t ask me to give it back.

I crave to be inside you more than I craved freedom in all of those twenty-two years combined.

I want you to teach me everything. How to touch you, taste you, worship you.

I love you, Syd. I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you until my dying day.

I take a moment to drink him in, my gaze soaking up every incredible inch of this man—this stranger, in a way, and yet… so much more. He is beautiful.

Pain pays the income of each precious thing,