Our Parents Were A Test Tube And

A Lot Of Times You Get People Writing Wonderful Sentences And Paragraphs, And They Fall In Love With Their Prose Style, But The Stories Really Aren't That Terrific.

Oh, My God. It Hit Me Like A Tsunami Then: How Perfect He Was For Me, How He Was Everything I Could Possibly Hope For, As A Friend, Boyfriend - Maybe Even More. He Was It For Me. There Would Be No More Looking. I Really, Really Loved Him, With A Whole New Kind Of Love I'd Never Felt Before, Something That Made Every Other Kind Of Love I'd Ever Felt Just Seem Washed Out And Wimpy In Comparison. I Loved Him With Every Cell In My Body, Every Thought In My Head, Every Feather In My Wings, Every Breath In My Lungs. And Air Sacs.

Fang’s Hand Gently Smoothed My Hair Off My Neck. My Breath Froze In My Chest, And Every Sense Seemed Hyperalert. His Hand Stroked My Hair Again, So Softly, And Then Trailed Across My Neck And Shoulder And Down My Back, Making Me Shiver. I Looked Up. “what The Heck Are You Doing?” “helping You Change Your Mind,” He Whispered, And Then He Leaned Over, Tilted My Chin Up, And Kissed Me.

My Mom Had A Soft Heart After All! Instead Of Being Chained By Both Wrists, We Were Only Chained By One Ankle! I Mean, If I’d Been Looking For Proof That She Really Did Love Me, This Was It, Right?

Listen, Street Punk. You're A Guy, And You're A Couple Inches Taller, And Maybe Forty Pounds Heavier, And Ooh, You're In A Gang. But I've Survived Ten Years Of Catholic School, And I Will Cut You Off At Your Knees Without A Blink. Do You Understand?