Dancers churned around them like storm tossed flowers, their heads held to either side as they whirled with abandonment. “Look at them,” he whispered, his voice in her ear. “Have you ever seen anything like it? They have everything, don’t the...
Her tea basket was still lost, but that didn’t seem to matter now. People used to eat loose tea on long journeys. They’d pack it into hard little cakes they’d pull out later, to gnaw on while they warmed their hands by a fire. The tea provided ...
Every once in a while she'll get worked up and cry like that. But that's ok. She's letting her feelings out. The scary thing is not being able to do that. Then your feelings build up and harden and die inside. That's when you're in big trouble.
She held up the pen and gave him a lazy grin. "It's a rose." He came close. "It's a pen." He tried to pluck it from her hand. "You are seriously lacking in imagination.
She says that each of us has his or her role in life, and if we know ourselves well enough to understand what that role is, we will be happy doing nothing but what we can do best.
Don't open that door," she said. "The hallway is full of difficult dreams." And I asked her: "How do you know?" And she told me: "Because I was there a moment ago and I had to come back when I discovered I was sleeping on my heart.
Family… that was my older sister Tiffany as well. My emotional spectrum for her covered everything from “my dearest sister, foundation of my heart and soul” up to “you fucking bitch, go and get run over by a train, please”. We had quite a n...
You know,” she stammered, resenting the way her body reacted to his touch with fireworks and songbirds, “I kind of hate you sometimes.” “If that’s code for ‘I want to fuck you until I can’t walk straight’, then I kind of hate you, too...
An amusing story? She jabs the call button as if poking an eye. She doesn’t want an amusing story, she wants change, a break, not anecdotes. Her life has been stuffed with anecdotes, an endless string of the bastards, now she wants something to rig...
But there's a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers ...
You did it, Taylor! You did it! You got yourself a backstage pass!" He was screaming in her ear. "I did?" Great. Now the last thing on earth she wanted to do was face that Brody Gallagher backstage. She never wanted to look him in the eye again.
Recently she had become intrigued by the admiring glances of other women. The admiration of her own sex existed on a higher and more intense plane than anything men could offer, like the romantic rivalries of sisters. Together, women formed a conspir...
I wanted to tell her “I love you” back, but I guess in waiting for the perfect moment (the next commercial break), I ended up completely forgetting.
You know you’re in love when you reach out to hold your woman’s hand, without remembering that her hands are full because you insisted she carry all the groceries out to the car.
She moved her hands like crane claws as she spoke, trying to dig at the essence of what she was saying. It was the dirtiest I love you I’ve ever heard.
My girlfriend and I are close. She’s like a brother to me. My brother is also dating her. We make love like mannequins and mashed potatoes, despite the fact that I’m single and an only child.
I called her Nebraska, because she was from Iowa. We made love like the Midwest. Well, not all of it. More like the Midwest minus Kansas, if you know what I mean.
The ice cube melted slowly like a candle, and I thought about my love for her and how it was like an ice cube candle and that I’ve always wanted to drink fire and make love with the ferociousness of a cooked spaghetti noodle.
She wasn’t much for words, but she told me she loved me in other ways, like soft kisses, gentle caresses, and occasionally even acknowledging that I was also in the room with her and that other guy.
We were just kids, what did we know about love? I knew I loved her, and she knew she didn’t love me. Turns out we were both wrong.
I loved her like the sun raining down on my skin. It was all so confusing, because was it raining or was it sunny? The answer is that love is always both, and that’s why I prefer umbrellas over condoms.
