He comes down next to me, and when I hold out my hand, he takes it. Our fingers lace together. And in that feeling, that perfect feeling of our hands and fingers pressed together, I want to tell him everything. I want to tell him about Josh, and his ...
It’s finger time!” Steve simply grunted. Li responded like she always had to the request over the past years, by walking over to the tall oak cabinet in his office and pulling out a pack of Vienna Fingers. She then closed the door and walked arou...
He turned to Frank who was trying to pull his fingers out of the Chinese handcuffs… “Okay,” Frank relented. “Sure.” He frowned at his fingers, trying to pull them out of the trap. “Uh, how do you—” Leo chuckled. “Man, you’ve never...
Cordelia loved his explanations. She loved knowing words that belonged to things she'd never seen, even to things you couldn't see at all. She remembered those words carefully. "Magic," George had said, "is something unnatural, something that doesn't...
Narrator: The day before he died was Palm Sunday. And Mr. and Mrs. Howard, their two children and their cousin Charles Johnson strolled to the second Presbyterian Church to attend the 10:00 service. Bob remained at the cottage and slyly migrated from...
Her soft trailing fingers would continue to attempt a connection that I refused to allow; that I couldn’t allow if I wanted to survive.
Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don't want to miss any of them.
She curled those fingers around him and gave a long, lazy pull. "No underwear?" "Didn't want to slow you down.
I waited for her to nod before pacing while I bit my lip. That hurt, so I switched to biting my finger nail.
A shy smile, strong arms, clever fingers, and two sure swords. What more could any woman want?
He ran his finger along my jawline and down my neck. "The wait will be fun, but it's not going to be easy.
I reached up with my finger and traced the scar over my eyebrow, remembering when that was the greatest hurt I'd ever known.
She held the book in her hands, feeling a sense of awe, and lightly ran a finger over its cover as if it contained sacred writings.
The finger in the jar atop the entertainment center served as a reminder: death was far kinder than the fate Juanita could have suffered at the hands of that other man.
The more we wait, the more everything and everyone looks like a grain of sand escaping between our fingers before vanishing into the wind.
Sometimes writing is running downhill, your fingers jerking behind you on the keyboard the way your legs do when they can’t quite keep up with gravity.
No matter what all your teeth and wet fingers anticipated, there was no accounting for the way that simple joy could shake you.
From one small spark a bushfire grows. Sellers of misery are our foes. Merging ruthlessly tongues of flame. Point your finger at those to blame.
I am Classic Rock Revisited. I revisit it every waking moment of my life because it has the spirit and the attitude and the fire and the middle finger. I am Rosa Parks with a Gibson guitar.
People like to think the worst. They like to have hushed gossip sessions and point their fingers at someone's problems that are more obvious than their own.
Praise be to the LORD my Rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle.
