Is This A Private Fight, Or Can

Methinks We Have A Clue. Be Still, My Heart.

What Is Love? Sometimes It's Just Letting Yourself Be Who And What You Are, And Letting The Person You're Supposed To Love Be Who And What He Is Too. Or Maybe What And Who They Are.

He Made A Small Sigh, As He Swallowed The First Blood, Then His Mouth Closed Over My Earlobe, Mouth Working At The Wound, Tongue Coaxing Blood From The Wound. He Pressed His Body The Length Of Mine, One Hand Cupping My Turned Head, The Other Playing Down The Line Of My Body. Maybe It Was Just Blood, But I Never Stroked My Steak While Eating It.

Sometimes It's Not The Optimist You Need, But Another Pessimist To Walk Beside You.

That Disapproving Look Was Back In Her Eyes. Her Teacher Face. The One That Could Make You Squirm From Ten Paces, Even If You Were Innocent. And I Hadn't Been Innocent For Years.