It Doesn't Take Skill To Stand In

It Must Require Bravery To Be Honest All The Time.

This Concept Could Easily Have Gone Awry. Stories About Love Tend To Go That Way Sometimes. They Wander Into The Realm Of Cheese And Never Return, Which I Think Is A Shame, Because There Is A Way To Write About Romantic Love Without Breaking Out The Velveeta.

I Think They're Going To Force Us To Eat Lots Of Cake And Then Take An Unreasonably Long Nap.

He Touches My Face, Covering My Cheeks With His Hands, Sliding His Fingertips Down My Neck, Fitting His Fingers To The Slight Curve Of My Hips. I Can't Stop.

I Feel A Thread Tugging Me Again, But This Time I Know That It Isn’t Some Sinister Force Dragging Me Toward Death. This Time I Know It’s My Mother's Hand, Drawing Me Into Her Arms. And I Go Gladly Into Her Embrace.