People say that time slips through our fingers like sand. What they don't acknowledge is that some of the sand sticks to the skin. These are the memories that will remain, memories of the time when there was still time left.
That’s what it feels like when you touch me. Like millions of tiny universes being born and then dying in the space between your finger and my skin. Sometimes I forget.
Fred said, “Man, I think he’s gonna make a fuckin’ suit of human skin, using the best parts from each of us.” “Holy crap,” said John. “He’ll be gorgeous.
Fitz pulled her forward, and the warm tingling in her hand shot through her body--like a million feathers swelling underneath her skin, tickling her from the inside out.
... and all we knew about her that we didn't know the night before was that she had eyes like pansies and skin like the moon.
How do you feel?" Her pupils were dilated, her cheeks flushed. "Like I want you to kiss me again." And _that_ was the invitation he'd been waiting for.
I've got no tolerance for a man who hurts women. Every man on this planet owes his life to a woman. I hope they catch the bastard and hang him by his nuts.
but good girls dont do that, dont make a fuss, dont upset parents. and i was a good girl so i curled up on the floor and sobbed silently instead
Once in a while, I smell Clive on my skin and it stops my day. It's a train crossing; I wait to pass. Eventually the lights stop flashing, the barriers lift. I keep moving.
We carry secrets under our skin like shrapnel. Our surface wounds heal, but the damage festers underneath while we worry what tiny pieces will work their way to the surface for the world to see.
I have to absorb the new season like sunlight, letting it turn my winter skin pink and then brown. I must stuff myself with lore and statistics until my fingers ooze balm.
One sticking point was that Jobs wanted his payout to be in cash. Amelio insisted that he needed to "have skin in the game" and take the payout in stock that he would agree to hold for at least a year.
i want to give up my bearings, slip out of who i am, shed everything, the way a snake discards old skin.
We are not just a skin-encapsulated ego, a soul encased in flesh. We are each other and we are the world.
Dimples crinkle up the skin near his lips. I will not look at his lips. How can he never have used those? That’s a crime against humanity right there.
Pegasus's dad was poseidon, the god of the sea, and his mom was Medusa, and evil Gorgon who had fangs and lizard skin and living snakes for hair. And you thought your family was weird.
I have learned that real angels don't have gossamer white robes and Cherubic skin, they have calloused hands and smell of the days' sweat.
Some people have a thick skin and you don't. Your heart is really open and that is going to cause pain, but that is an appropriate response to this world.
I'm not Bonnie™ or Chloe. I'm the essence of her, the nontrademarked person the camera can never capture and my parents have no right to sign over. There is a sovereign nation encased in this skin that MetaReel can never trademark.
Never mind, said Hachiko each day. Here I wait, for my friend who’s late. I will stay, just to walk beside you for one more day.
Kicking the door shut with the heel of my boot, I wedge her against it, raining kisses on her skin, wishing I could climb inside her and kiss away the welts left on her heart and mind.
