Elias could not have prepared himself for the moment that he walked into that cottage and laid his eyes on her. Her emerald green eyes--the way they gazed upon him like there were no surroundings or time or sounds to distract her, like he was all tha...
She couldn't stop thinking about Elias. His hands caressing her feet, his arms around her body, his fingers entangled in her hair--he was so warm. It wasn't only the temperature, it was some deep connection that ran down to her soul, his touch mollif...
He just wanted to get through his uninteresting day, so he could cross over into the night, and find his way to the red headed light that brightened the black sky.
She smiled at him, and he stopped breathing.
She ignored his feverish, sweaty skin, his violent trembles, and she kissed him. As he passionately held her against him, the whole world disappeared. It was just him. It had always been him.
Writing is the voices inside our heads, our minds, the creativity that exists for us to, from nothing, create alternate worlds, manipulate a personality or to introduce a new kind of love, a new kind of hate or pain or happiness or wonder or... anyth...
