LivelyVanderWood

Welcome to the best room, without limitations and open mind

Lively Vander Wood

★★★

In the bright night, the peace lights up, the starry sky its magic extends. The wind whispers love stories, and in every corner the ardor blooms. The tree is dressed with lights and dreams, and the hearts are filled with good wishes. It is Christmas, a time of hope and faith, where everything is possible, where being is reborn. May the light of love always accompany you, and may Christmas fill you with joy and luck.

This Christmas, my love for you shines, like stars that distill in the sky. Your eyes are my light, my sweet calm, and in your embrace I find my soul. The snow falls softly, covering the ground, but your love envelops me, lifts me to heaven. May this Christmas be just our moment, where tenderness, passion and feeling merge. I love you more than ever, on this special day, and by your side, everything is a heavenly dream.

In the corner of the world, where the sun awakens, your eyes are stars, its light envelops me. You are the whisper that caresses the wind, the soft melody in the song of time. Your laughter is the echo of a calm river, a shining beacon that guides my soul. Your steps are dance, a subtle art, in every movement, a verse of feverish love. You are strength and tenderness, a burning fire, in your embrace I find the home that keeps me. Your dreams are wings that fly so high, with you woman, the horizon is a song.

★★★

★★★

Blessed be the year, the point, the day, the season, the place, the month, the hour, and the country, in which your enchanting gaze upon my soul. Blessed is the sweetest stubbornness of surrendering myself to that love that dwells in my soul, and the bow and arrows of which I now feel the wounds still open. Blessed are the words with which I sing the name of my beloved and my torment my anxieties, my sighs and my tears. And blessed are my verses and my art because they extol her and finally my thought since she only shares it.

★★★

Whoever says that absence causes forgetting deserves to be forgotten by all. The true and firm in love is, when he is absent, more lost. Memory revives its sense; loneliness raises its care; being so far from its good makes its desire more ardent. The wounds given in him do not heal, even if the look that caused them ceases, if they remain in the soul confirmed, that if one is with many stabs, because he flees from who stabbed him not for that they will be better healed.

★★★

★★★

I have already given myself and given and so I have exchanged, that my beloved is for me, and I am for my beloved. When the sweet hunter threw me and left me surrendered, in the arms of love my soul fell. And taking new life in such a way I have changed that he is my beloved to me, and I am to my beloved. with an arrow of love, and my soul became one with its Creator, I no longer want another love because to my God I have given myself, and my beloved is for me, and I am for my beloved.

★★★

On a cold autumn morning, Clara, a young artist in her 20s, was in a small café, watching the leaves slowly fall from the trees. Since moving to Paris, she had found inspiration in every corner of the city, but something was missing in her life: love. One morning, while drawing a portrait of an old man reading a book, a man with dark hair and intense eyes sat at the table next to me..

★★★

In a corner of the world where the sun wakes up, I found you, my love, like a flash in the fog, dancing among shadows, between dreams and whispers, with an air of magic that time does not dazzle. Your eyes, two stars that illuminate the night, every blink, a universe that opens, and in the depth of your serene gaze, I discover the infinite sea where my soul sails. Your lips, two petals of a flower in spring, every word that springs is a song, a burst, and in the sweetness of your laughter, an echo of promises that resonates in the chest, like a beating on.

★★★

★★★

We walk together along paths of nostalgia, where the wind whispers secrets of the past, and time stops in its gentle dance, like a clock that forgets what has been forgotten. Nights are canvases that we paint of stars, our bodies, two waves that embrace in calm, and in each caress, a poem is written, a love story that fate claims. I've seen you bloom in every season, in the golden autumn, in the silent winter, and in the burning spring that awakens the senses, my love for you grows, like a overflowing river.

★★★

★★★