love-story

I couldn__ escape the hell I was in; the push pull between hot & cold. Neither was better, just two extremes of the same pain.

You are a bright light, Elli._ His own breath hitches, a sound that I cannot quite grasp. His eyes are darkening, his lips tightening. His hands grasp me tighter and he moves closer, his mouth inches from mine, I can almost taste the sweetness and saltiness of his scent, the rich coffee beans and sugar, the vague spearmint. I say nothing, I__ not even sure I__ breathing.__ou shouldn__ have to see such pain, such blackness. You are too pure._ His lips do not collide with mine, his skin does not brush against me, only his voice sends a shiver down every notch in my spine, trailing goose bumps over my skin. He tilts his head to the side, his lips gently brushing against my ear. And that is all. I__ not good enough for him. I__ not. That__ why_ that__ why__oo pure_

East Hollow is full of tormented souls._ I remark, only to hear his chuckle, his eyes moving forward just in time to step out of the way of a wayward man with armfuls of carrier bags.__ow that is the attraction.

I want to get to know you a little better._ His hand touches mine, the briefest of touches but I still recoil my hand into the sleeve of my cardigan. His touch is blisteringly hot, I__ sure earlier today when he cupped my cheek I had burn marks. But no, it is just him, just his touch, it sends crazy little shivers throughout my entirety.__ don__ understand you_ you said you want what you cannot have. Isn__ this a form of torture?___oes a person who wishes to lose weight not taunt themselves with sweets? Does a person not go by the same window every day, just to glimpse the piece of jewellery they long for, yet can never attain? We torment ourselves every day with things we cannot have. Perhaps it is torture, but perhaps my request is genuine.

As our kissing progresses, I don__ care that our tryst seems raunchy and wrong. I don__ care that I__ at school, in the boy__ bathroom. I don__ care that to most people this would seem cheap, dirty, and despicable. The only thing I can think about while he kisses me deeper, harder, faster, is that Henry Garner is the plague and the only thing I want him to do is infect me.

Too many adults wish to 'protect' teenagers when they should be stimulating them to read of life as it is lived.

We must be able to look under the surface rather than over-analyze it and delude ourselves into thinking we__e seeing beneath it.

Did you fall asleep?""No. I couldn't sleep that night.""You were restless?""I was thinking of you."The answer almost unmanned me. Something in the tone, even more than in the words, went straight to my heart. It was only after pausing a little first that I was able to go on.

His hands fell to my hips, and his fingers dug through my rain-drenched clothes.

You know what?_ he whispered, out of breath, __ou__e about to be in a whole lot of trouble. We probably better go.

The ability to engage the reader, to stir feelings deep within their being, is the ultimate goal of erotic fiction. When the reader takes the place of the characters in my story, I have succeeded

I remember when your name was just another name that rolled without thought off my tongue.Now, I can__ look at your name without an abundance of sentiment attached to each lettter.Your name, which I played with so carelessly, so easily, has somehow become sacred to my lips.A name I won__ throw around lightheartedly or repeat without deep thought.And if ever I speak of you, I use the English language to describe who you were to me. You are nameless, because those letters grouped together in that familiar form_.. carries too much meaning for my capricious heart.

But every spiteful word she ever wrote him was effortless love clenched in her fists. Her heart screaming for stability in this fiery game of desire.

Yes, I was a badass all right. And I no longer felt like I needed someone, but instead WANTED someone to share this newfound badassery with. I deserved the best. Anything else wouldn't do.

I don't know why, but people seem to be fascinated to learn how some members of society fall through the cracks. I think it's partly that feeling that... it could happen to anyone. But I think it also makes people feel better about their own lives. It makes them think, 'Well, I may think my life is bad, but it could be worse, I could be that poor sod.

I don't care about your pasti know one thingthati want to be your last

But I was youngand didn__ know betterand someone should have told me to capture every secondevery kiss & every nightBecause now I__ sitting here alone and it__ getting really hard to breath because tears are growing in my throat and they want to break out, but there are peoplewatchingand I just want to be somewhere silentsomewhere stillBut still I don__ want to be alone because I__ scared and lonelyand I don__ understandBecause I was alone my whole lifeMy whole lifeI was so damn lonely and I was content with thatbecause I liked myself and my own company and I didn__ need anyoneI thoughtBut then there was you .. ...So, someone should have told me that love is for those few brave who can handle the unbearable emptiness,the unbearable guilt and lack of oneself,Because I lost myself to someone I loveand I might get myself back one daybut it will take time, it will take time.This is gonna take some time.I wish someone would have told me this.Someone should have told me this.

Embrace the love of God.